From Outer Space many things can look strange, such as the fervor over videogame hype.
Killzone 2; you know what it is, why it was hyped, why it was mocked, and why it was defended by people who make themselves fans of a video game console.
But, in the end, it is a video game, and it must be played. So last week I finished the campaign of Killzone 2 and have a few thoughts. Yes, there will be spoilers aplenty. Also I will be talking about the game experience post-patch with the fix for the dead zone in the aiming controls, which I played through the bulk of the campaign with.
My opinion: does Killzone 2 live up to the hype? For the first 1/3rd of its campaign, yes.
The idea in Killzone 2 is to vividly represent the invasion of a hostile planet, where every footstep falls on enemy soil, and the very infrastructure itself is designed to confuse, blockade, and demoralize invaders. Killzone 2's campaign opens with a very immersive and vivid staging area on one of the ISA warships invading planet Helghan. While the immediate interactive bits of getting out of your bunk and walking through the ship to the drop carriers is a first person shooter cliche (thank you Half-Life), it's brief and doesn't slow the start of the action down too much (a theme that we'll be seeing through the rest of the campaign, one of its strong points).
There's a bit of plot exposition here, hinting at the political intrigue that's thick in the backstory of the Killzone universe - but aside from the simple remark that "we're gonna capture Visari [the Helghast leader] cause he's the bad guy!" Killzone 2 dials back the plot to the point that it's basically irrelevant, up until a jarring session of exposition at the very end.
The drop ship ride of your squad is well down and echos the infamous Killzone 2 E3 teaser video, though contrary to some of the hyped up claims of fans and the gaming media, it does not look anywhere near as good and is not quite as well orchestrated as the teaser video's similar seqauence. How could it? No matter the fantasies of the apologists, the original teaser was CG carefully and painstakingly arranged and animated by hand. Even so, the opening is Killzone 2's finest moment. Touchdown on the muddy beach near the Helghan capitol city is epic; there is a genuine feeling of being thrown into a warzone where a vast conflict is just beginning. The trip through the first mission, leading up to a climactic battle against a squad of tanks, is expertly paced from beginning to end. Here the fundamental solidness of Killzone 2's play mechanics is established. The combat feels visceral and solid. One high point of Killzone 2 is the intelligence and threat of the enemy Helghast forces, which helps establish them as a credible threat and raises tension.
Here is the first mis-step though: planet Helghan is rendered with an extreme amount of detail and with great attention paid to logical, believable architecture. The Helghast themselves though, while they move well, seem oddly generic in this sequel. The trademark gas masks with orange glowing eyes are there, but in an arbitrary choice, the iconic Helghast image of the series - storm-troopers in black shrouds, with Nazi-esque helmets, giving an image of an ice-cold reaper - is rarely used. The Helghan troops look more like generic space marines with the Helghast glowy orange eyes Photoshopped in place. A lack of strong identity comes into play later.
The first 3rd of the campaign deals with the initial assault on the capitol city, with several stages involving fighting through streets and through semi-shelled out buildings. The campaign is exceedingly linear; there are no optional objectives or "skill points" besides finding a few hidden briefcases for a collect-a-thon and shooting 3 Helghast symbols in each mission. While the AI of the enemy is impressive, even epic at moments, the part where Killzone 2 is not a Halo killer is in the lack of options and "body english" in its encounters. There is rarely more than one way to handle an encounter, and the weapons system, with its default pistol that can't be dropped, allowing you to carry only one main weapon at a time, encourages finding the one gun that works for you and sticking with it the whole game (except when a scenario forces you to change.) It's GOOD linear, but linear none-the-less.
At the end of the initial city siege, we reach Plot Twist #1. Radec, the ridiculously evil military overlord of the Helghast who is also A True Warrior's Warrior, reluctantly engages a secret defense system that electrifies every street in the city, wiping out most of the invading ISA forces who were deep into the city at the time. Presumably, lots of Helghast who were still fighting were also killed, but, in Killzone 2's ham-fisted plotting, the Helghast are good Hollywood Nazis (or Hollywood Islamic Terrorists): they fling themselves lemming-like into death while screaming the name of their fearless leader.
After the invasion is ground to a halt, the player's squad is reassigned in a sudden 90 degree turn followed by a skidding stop, to escort a science team across the planet to try and figure out just what secret technologies the Helghast might have that could make things a little tricky for the invasion fleet. (Since, presumably, the ISA invaded Helghan without concern for any intelligence gathering whatsoever, or at least, based on extremely misleading or disregarded intelligence - political commentary incoming in 3... 2... 1...)
Here is where we see the start of what I call the Only the Demo Matters phenomenon: like many games, first person shooters in particular, Killzone 2 carefully constructs its opening motions - the ones most likely to be seen in demos, pre-release media, movies, and playable for special press screenings behind closed doors. Then the following 2/3rds of the game fall back on much more stereotypical tropes, and paint-by-numbers design. Following the opening missions, you:
Go to a remote location that has little to do with the primary fight and thus, is quick and easy to construct and requires little cinematics or epic scale battles. You are ambushed and cut off with no quick way back.
Spend the middle act of the game on The Long Trek Home, through an arbitrary and generic looking refinery, and even take a Gears of War train ride.
Fight random pockets of enemy troops who are guarding the middle of nowhere for, well, whatever. You need stuff to shoot, damn it man.
Make it back just in time to discover that your base has been overrun with enemy forces since, well, the player character was not there to kill them all for his incompetent AI buddies.
Fight through Friendly Territory Turned Hostile, in generic military corridors that have little to do with the much more interesting visual motifs and locations featured in the all-important opening act.
Seemingly kill off all the bad guys, but, a heroic leader dies anyway and the base is lost, so you escape in the nick of time.
Now, to be fair, one thing Killzone 2 avoids during all of this is some of the tired, generic padding that's become standard in most first and third-person shooters. Thanks to Halo, most games have the Jeep section, the Turrent section, the Air/Spacecraft flying sequence, precisely because most game developers don't comprehend Halo was built from scratch around such things and so they're actually fun and relevant in Halo. Aside from one arbitrary but very short turrent shooting sequence when your own ISA capital ship is being invaded, the only "expanded game mechanic" in Killzone 2 is a sequence during the desert trek home in which you climb into a giant ISA robot - but this sequence is actually fun, because the robot is smartly designed and plays well. The way that I determine whether or not an added-value gameplay variety sequence should have been there in a game is simple: if I had a free level select available, would I want to play through that sequence again, for its own sake? In the vast majority of modern games, that answer is "no". But, like the faithful Warthog in Halo, I'd play with Killzone 2's ISA armored suit all day. So, good job there.
There are also a few more character related scenes and plot twists on the trip: Garza, one of your primary squad members dies in a scene out of a hundred war movies, but we're presented with this as if it's fresh and shocking, and nobody had ever thought of it before. The mistake made in plotting here is that the guy who should have died was the one in the squad who made all the best jokes. ("I. Am. Cold. Next time we're invading a hotel.") Not because he's annoying, but because that's the character that the audience actually misses when he's gone. (A lesson in drama that Joss Whedon knows all too well, for better... and for worse.)
After the fall of the good guys base, the final plot twist unspools: Radec, again demonstrating why Visari doesn't really need an army and should have just sent him to kill everyone (as you will learn the hard way in a boss battle to come), detonates a nuke on the capitol, wiping out friend and foe alike and breaking the back of the ISA invasion.
Typically, the smart though to do here might be to pull back and regroup one's tattered forces, since a fleet of intersteller warships still awaits in orbit. But, this is a video game: your squad is of course, sent into the irradiated hellstorm to go get Visari by yourselves.
The final act of the game involves take-2 on the seige of what now remains of the city, which is similar to act 1, but more straightforward, a lot harder, but a lot more generic. After a brief stop to blow up a few anti-aircraft installations, it's a straight run through a gauntlet of Helghast to the imperial palace. Again, it's all a great deal of fun. The basic combat in Killzone 2 is solid as a rock and the intelligence of the Helghast troops keeps things tense.
About that boss battle?
At the doors to Leader Visari's chambers, Radec appears again for a showdown. This the game's longest and hardest "boss" sequence, involving first a major firefight with Radec's personal support troops, after which the man himself appears, complete with a cloaking device to allow hm to run around the room invisible until he attacks you.
Here we find that once again, people who design first person shooters are really not sure how to make boss-like encounters. First, while I could be wrong, Radec just plain cheats with his cloak: the character teleports around the room, appearing behind you to strike with his cheesed, one-hit-kill knife, and while he's "cloaked", spraying the empty space with bullets does not actually hit anything or do extra damage. Then there's the issue of his health: I counted about 35 point blank shotgun blasts to Radec's face before he went down. Again, why didn't Visari just ask Radec to mop up that pesky invasion while he was running out to get milk?
Still, in time - in a lot of time, and a lot of deaths, and a lot of restarts - Radec goes down, and just to prove how bad-assed he is, as he lays bleeding out, he pulls out his own pistol and shoots hmself in the head before he dies of blood loss. I have to admit - both I and Space Dinosaur Red got a great laugh out of this scene but, like so many dramtic scenes in contemporary videogames, I do not think the game creators intended us to laugh at this point. What they hoped we would do, I'm not quite sure. But I'm pretty sure it wasn't a fit of uncontrolable giggling.
And so at last, we come to the big man himself, Visari. And suddenly Killzone 2 remembers it has a plot, or at least its universe does. Visari is unafraid to see you burst in because he knows that you're not here to kill him, and he begins lecturing you, gloatingly, over the political intrigue that lowly grunts such as yourself are mere tools of. After working himself up into a particularly hefty rant, the final twist comes when Rico, the most annoying and unwelcome of your squadmates, shoots Visari because, well, Rico is annoying and unwelcome. And you, the player character of Sev - who is more of a videogame cipher than a clinically depressed Master Chief - sit down on the steps of Visari's palace to watch as the final-final plot twist unfolds: an entire fleet of Helghan warships that were, evidently, out being washed for the first 72 hours of the planetary invasion, cruise over the city and begin blowing the ISA warships to kingdom come. The end.
Okay.
I realize that I might sound overly negative here but in point of fact, I enjoyed the campaign of Killzone 2 and will play it again on the highest difficulty to get the most out of the combat system, because it really is nice. Also, to its credit, the game does not fall into the trap of many of its contemporaries and offer a brief, shallow campaign because it expects the main draw to be multiplayer: Killzone 2's campaign is very long, and for the sake of gunplay if nothing else, is great. Still, I can't help but see it the window-dressing and level design surrounding it all as another indication of what the game industry gets desperately wrong these days. Game developers want to be movie directors, and the game industry wants to replace the Old Media that it sees as it successor. But games are not movies and they shouldn't have to be. Cramming a bunch of tired tropes into a game doesn't really make it a dramatic classic. Killzone 2 has the look of people who would like to imagine they're making gaming's Black Hawk Down, but unfortunately, they have not made Black Hawk Down or even close to it. Perhaps in part is the problem of photorealism rearing its head again from the uncanny valley; one of the few games in recent years that I've felt navigated the shoals of movie-maker aspirations was Uncharted. Uncharted wisely avoided striving for absolute photo-realism in its characters, and adopted a stylized look; therefore, most of the time, its serious and dramtic moments were not undercut by awkward polygon Supermarionettes. In the end, Killzone 2's dramatic moments fair no better than a hundred other technology filled videogames, especially since the writing and characterization is not there to compensate for the akwardness of the visuals.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
The Thinkie Corner: Street Fighter IV
Some thoughts on the post-release of Street Fighter IV:
You can't please everyone.
As expected, there is a backlash against SFIV in the hardcore community. The funny thing about people I have observed as a space dinosaur, is that many of them will applaud displays of contrarianism for its own sake. So there will always been plenty of support for those who criticize things even if their criticisms are silly. In the case of SFIV, the hardcore have decided that it is not Super Street Fighter 2 Turbo, so it really just has to go. This is also not a surprise, as the hardcore have been saying everything that is not Super Turbo has to go for 16 years. In the case of the SFIV backlash, the bias is so strong that the hardcore fans are becoming irrational and starting to just plain make things up, hoping nobody will notice. For instance:
The hardcore have been quick to point to tales of "casual" players who pick up SFIV and gnaw on the controller for a few minutes, before throwing it away when they cannot comprehend a basic quarter circle + punch button fireball, but there will always be people who are just plain no good at videogames, or who have literally zero patience. But this relates to another point below.
About SFIV being "3D" - fighting game players have a stronger bias than many against polygon graphics, seeing them and 3D fighting games as the enemy who has stolen away their heritage of 2D games. Many of the vocal critics of SFIV have been those who sneer at anything "3D". The problem here, and where they now begin to make things up, is in saying SFIV is "slow", "floaty", "clunky", compared to 2D Street Fighter games. This simply is not true. Characters in SFIV move and react faster than original Street Fighter 2. The game is faster than the slower speed settings in most of the games bearing the Street Figher name. The characters walk, crounch, jump, just as fast as they have on 2D. They fall through the air at the comparable speeds. Hit detection is sharp and precise (didn't the hardcore complain about difficult and precise link combos?). Control input is smooth and fluid.
From this, one might conclude two possibilities: the hardcore need to hate the new thing, and because they know that saying a game sucks because it is 3D is an easy win in their community, they say SFIV has all the negative attributes that they have traditonally assigned to 3D games. Or, the hardcore have so little experience playing 3D games - because they hate them and stay away - that they literally cannot gauge the speed the game is moving at due to depth perception and the 3D nature of the on-screen movement (even thought the game plays on a 2D plane.) Because there is more movement, and infinite perspective receeding into the distance, they feel things are "slower" than a fast scrolling 2D background plane and sprite characters. People with no experience in 3D games often have serious perception issues - anyone into first person shooters knows this - so I wouldn't be surprised if the latter was the case as odd as it sounds.
But what about SFIV being non-accessible to the casual fan? Where did this idea come from in the first place? Well, from the producer of the game, Yoshinori Ono. Time and again, Ono has said that he wanted SFIV to be playable by anyone, to draw in those who had lost interest in fighters because they had become too obscure and technical. Also, to appeal to those who played classic Street Fighter 2 and have long since lapsed from fighting games. I think what may have happened here is that the hardcore fans heard the words "accessible" and "casual" and did what most hardcore gamers do these days: instantly seized upon the image of Street Fighter IV as Wii Sports. The word "casual" is the new parriah of enthusiast gamers, and to them, casual = simple and shallow. (And also "stupid".) Because Street Fighter IV has deep mechanics, such as the easy to grasp Focus Attack system having complex layers to explore, the hardcore are baffled, unable to grasp how the game could appeal to beginners or the casual. The problem here is that the hardcore don't seem to understand that accessible does not mean shallow. Being hardcore, they look at SFIV and only see the complex mechanics and immediately begin grappling with those. Then they assume the game is for experts only. But to the beginner, SFIV is much more clear and open than the technical festivals that fighting games - including 2D fighting games - have developed into. Most characters have only a few special moves, one super, and one 'revenge' (ultra) move. Each punch and kick strength is mapped to its own button. There are many combo possibilities but they are built by the player and experimentation - not hidden behind dozens of pre-programmed strings of moves that involve arbitrary command inputs and 20 button presses.
Again, some players have complained that SFIV is too hard on their first attempt at playing, but by the same token, some people cannot play Super Mario Bros. without having trouble figuring out spatial coordination for basic platforming. This is not to say they simply suck, but not everyone will figure out every kind of play mechanic easily. Of course in some cases, some gamers do suck because they are petty and demand instant gratification; any degree of difficulty is too much for their impatience. While the population density in Outer Space is low, I have nonetheless observed many people playing SFIV for the first time and being refreshed at how open it is and easy to grasp. They might not instantly be able to throw a fireball every time, but they realize that a little skill has to be earned. SFIV is nothing like the brick wall that many fighting games present to them.
Then there is what seems to be the final recourse of SFIV hatred, the Revenge meter. If you haven't played the game, this meter is a "rage guage". The more you are hit, the more it fills. When ready it allows you to execute an "ultra combo" designed to give the player a comeback. The hardcore have protested this with the basic logic that it rewards people for losing and surely this is absurd. But the pink elephant in the room is that another element in Street Fighter has rewarded people for winning for years: the Super meter. Simply put, the more you are ahead, the more Super Meter you have, and the easier it becomes for you to dominate. The Revenge meter is the counter to this; it becomes dangerous to pressure the other player and keep them in the corner. Often, a player is not being pinned down because they simply suck; even the best players become unlucky or guess wrong. While the Revenge system will be debated, it's not non-sensical. And the only way to balance the game by the standards of those complaining about it would be to remove the Super meter as well. (Ultra combos also have many limitations, such as inability to combo them from most attacks, and requiring a 100% full Revenge meter to do real damage.)
You can please everyone.
Meanwhile, back in the land where hardcore pundits are not complaining, the general reaction to SFIV has been as positive as could have been hoped. The game in its current form is not perfect, and most of all is going to need balance adjustments to certain characters to correct gross oversights in their abilities (though the balance is already much closer together than is typical for a Capcom fighting game) but it does what it set out to do: update Street Fighter and make it relevant again. One of the most common remarks I have read about SFIV is how often people laugh while playing it. It is simply energetic to the point that playing the game creates joy; the characters exaggerated facial expressions, the translation of a Capcom fighting game's over the top and fantastical attacks - these things come together in a way that one assumes had to be intentional. SFIV does not take itself seriously even as it gets down to serious business, which is an atmosphere that has been missing from most of the current day fighting games. It's true that games like Tekken, Soul Calibur, and Guilty Gear have their satirical moments and silly elements but it's not the same thing. SFIV is a well-written "dramedy" that knows precisely when to wax dramatic and when to be funny.
That and the balance of the play mechanics has hit a magical zone. As Space Dinosaur Red - who does not ordinarly play fighting games competitively - told me "I never feel as if I have no hope when playing." In my play time, I have never felt as if an Ultra combo in my (blue) face has robbed me of a victory; it reminds me that I was carried away and not paying attention to the fact that my success had put my opponent into the corner with a fully charged Revenge meter. Fights in SFIV do not feel simplistic in their flow; there are stages that unlock progressively.
Please sir, can I have some more?
The success and popularity of SFIV - and the hype surrounding it - should be taken as a very good thing even by people who do not - or will not allow themselves - to enjoy it. Little has dragged the genre back into the spotlight like SFIV in years. Its commercial success will encourage Capcom to fund fresh installments in many long-neglected franchises. It may help other games - such as the upcoming King of Fighters XII - gain a foothole in public perception.
You can't please everyone.
As expected, there is a backlash against SFIV in the hardcore community. The funny thing about people I have observed as a space dinosaur, is that many of them will applaud displays of contrarianism for its own sake. So there will always been plenty of support for those who criticize things even if their criticisms are silly. In the case of SFIV, the hardcore have decided that it is not Super Street Fighter 2 Turbo, so it really just has to go. This is also not a surprise, as the hardcore have been saying everything that is not Super Turbo has to go for 16 years. In the case of the SFIV backlash, the bias is so strong that the hardcore fans are becoming irrational and starting to just plain make things up, hoping nobody will notice. For instance:
- SFIV is too hard. Focus Attacks are confusing. It has precisely timed linked attacks. It's moves have difficult control motions.
- SFIV is 3D, and all 3D games are slow and imprecise, so SFIV is far slower than any 2D Street Fighter.
- SFIV is not really accessible to the casual fan like it was supposed to be, because it has advanced techniques that are hard.
- SFIV is unbalanced because the Revenge Meter rewards players for losing, and how crazy is that?
The hardcore have been quick to point to tales of "casual" players who pick up SFIV and gnaw on the controller for a few minutes, before throwing it away when they cannot comprehend a basic quarter circle + punch button fireball, but there will always be people who are just plain no good at videogames, or who have literally zero patience. But this relates to another point below.
About SFIV being "3D" - fighting game players have a stronger bias than many against polygon graphics, seeing them and 3D fighting games as the enemy who has stolen away their heritage of 2D games. Many of the vocal critics of SFIV have been those who sneer at anything "3D". The problem here, and where they now begin to make things up, is in saying SFIV is "slow", "floaty", "clunky", compared to 2D Street Fighter games. This simply is not true. Characters in SFIV move and react faster than original Street Fighter 2. The game is faster than the slower speed settings in most of the games bearing the Street Figher name. The characters walk, crounch, jump, just as fast as they have on 2D. They fall through the air at the comparable speeds. Hit detection is sharp and precise (didn't the hardcore complain about difficult and precise link combos?). Control input is smooth and fluid.
From this, one might conclude two possibilities: the hardcore need to hate the new thing, and because they know that saying a game sucks because it is 3D is an easy win in their community, they say SFIV has all the negative attributes that they have traditonally assigned to 3D games. Or, the hardcore have so little experience playing 3D games - because they hate them and stay away - that they literally cannot gauge the speed the game is moving at due to depth perception and the 3D nature of the on-screen movement (even thought the game plays on a 2D plane.) Because there is more movement, and infinite perspective receeding into the distance, they feel things are "slower" than a fast scrolling 2D background plane and sprite characters. People with no experience in 3D games often have serious perception issues - anyone into first person shooters knows this - so I wouldn't be surprised if the latter was the case as odd as it sounds.
But what about SFIV being non-accessible to the casual fan? Where did this idea come from in the first place? Well, from the producer of the game, Yoshinori Ono. Time and again, Ono has said that he wanted SFIV to be playable by anyone, to draw in those who had lost interest in fighters because they had become too obscure and technical. Also, to appeal to those who played classic Street Fighter 2 and have long since lapsed from fighting games. I think what may have happened here is that the hardcore fans heard the words "accessible" and "casual" and did what most hardcore gamers do these days: instantly seized upon the image of Street Fighter IV as Wii Sports. The word "casual" is the new parriah of enthusiast gamers, and to them, casual = simple and shallow. (And also "stupid".) Because Street Fighter IV has deep mechanics, such as the easy to grasp Focus Attack system having complex layers to explore, the hardcore are baffled, unable to grasp how the game could appeal to beginners or the casual. The problem here is that the hardcore don't seem to understand that accessible does not mean shallow. Being hardcore, they look at SFIV and only see the complex mechanics and immediately begin grappling with those. Then they assume the game is for experts only. But to the beginner, SFIV is much more clear and open than the technical festivals that fighting games - including 2D fighting games - have developed into. Most characters have only a few special moves, one super, and one 'revenge' (ultra) move. Each punch and kick strength is mapped to its own button. There are many combo possibilities but they are built by the player and experimentation - not hidden behind dozens of pre-programmed strings of moves that involve arbitrary command inputs and 20 button presses.
Again, some players have complained that SFIV is too hard on their first attempt at playing, but by the same token, some people cannot play Super Mario Bros. without having trouble figuring out spatial coordination for basic platforming. This is not to say they simply suck, but not everyone will figure out every kind of play mechanic easily. Of course in some cases, some gamers do suck because they are petty and demand instant gratification; any degree of difficulty is too much for their impatience. While the population density in Outer Space is low, I have nonetheless observed many people playing SFIV for the first time and being refreshed at how open it is and easy to grasp. They might not instantly be able to throw a fireball every time, but they realize that a little skill has to be earned. SFIV is nothing like the brick wall that many fighting games present to them.
Then there is what seems to be the final recourse of SFIV hatred, the Revenge meter. If you haven't played the game, this meter is a "rage guage". The more you are hit, the more it fills. When ready it allows you to execute an "ultra combo" designed to give the player a comeback. The hardcore have protested this with the basic logic that it rewards people for losing and surely this is absurd. But the pink elephant in the room is that another element in Street Fighter has rewarded people for winning for years: the Super meter. Simply put, the more you are ahead, the more Super Meter you have, and the easier it becomes for you to dominate. The Revenge meter is the counter to this; it becomes dangerous to pressure the other player and keep them in the corner. Often, a player is not being pinned down because they simply suck; even the best players become unlucky or guess wrong. While the Revenge system will be debated, it's not non-sensical. And the only way to balance the game by the standards of those complaining about it would be to remove the Super meter as well. (Ultra combos also have many limitations, such as inability to combo them from most attacks, and requiring a 100% full Revenge meter to do real damage.)
You can please everyone.
Meanwhile, back in the land where hardcore pundits are not complaining, the general reaction to SFIV has been as positive as could have been hoped. The game in its current form is not perfect, and most of all is going to need balance adjustments to certain characters to correct gross oversights in their abilities (though the balance is already much closer together than is typical for a Capcom fighting game) but it does what it set out to do: update Street Fighter and make it relevant again. One of the most common remarks I have read about SFIV is how often people laugh while playing it. It is simply energetic to the point that playing the game creates joy; the characters exaggerated facial expressions, the translation of a Capcom fighting game's over the top and fantastical attacks - these things come together in a way that one assumes had to be intentional. SFIV does not take itself seriously even as it gets down to serious business, which is an atmosphere that has been missing from most of the current day fighting games. It's true that games like Tekken, Soul Calibur, and Guilty Gear have their satirical moments and silly elements but it's not the same thing. SFIV is a well-written "dramedy" that knows precisely when to wax dramatic and when to be funny.
That and the balance of the play mechanics has hit a magical zone. As Space Dinosaur Red - who does not ordinarly play fighting games competitively - told me "I never feel as if I have no hope when playing." In my play time, I have never felt as if an Ultra combo in my (blue) face has robbed me of a victory; it reminds me that I was carried away and not paying attention to the fact that my success had put my opponent into the corner with a fully charged Revenge meter. Fights in SFIV do not feel simplistic in their flow; there are stages that unlock progressively.
Please sir, can I have some more?
The success and popularity of SFIV - and the hype surrounding it - should be taken as a very good thing even by people who do not - or will not allow themselves - to enjoy it. Little has dragged the genre back into the spotlight like SFIV in years. Its commercial success will encourage Capcom to fund fresh installments in many long-neglected franchises. It may help other games - such as the upcoming King of Fighters XII - gain a foothole in public perception.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
The Thinkie Corner
Street Fighter IV is coming and it's amazing that it matters.
Or at least, it seems to matter far more than anyone would have anticipated. Street Fighter is a game tied to the last great generation of video arcades. It was the game that helped launch that final generation. But it faded from popular view along with those arcades; it was a game steeped in arcade culture. After the arcades - in the west at least - went away, Street Fighter's popularity receded to the most elite of the hardcore niches; the tournament players, the professional gamer scene. They have kept the flag flying heroically for more than ten years but in a world where the mass market gamer seems eternally enthralled by sandbox gangland simulators and first person shooters, many people thought that the deceptive simplicity of the one-on-one fighting game would never find mass appeal again.
There was a bit more to the disappearance of the fighting game than that, however. Capcom waited too long to make Street Fighter III. They showed their bad side in numerous attempts to cash in on the continuing success of SF2. Other makers, including SNK, flooded the market with dozens of poorly conceived, derivative fighters attempting to milk what they must have assumed was a voracious fanbase. For every King of Fighters there were five Breakers Revenge. 3D fighters gained great popularity but were not friendly towards new players; the leading 3D series were extremely technical or stepped in dial-a-combo button pressing sequences and move lists several pages long. Finally, the increasing cost of game development stole funding from a genre that marketers assumed was on its way out. Fighting games looked simple, but making a good one wasn't cheap. (At their height, Capcom's 2D fighter teams seemed more like animation studios than traditional game developers.)
And with arcades dying out in the west, one of the footholds that fighters had in popular culture vanished. As quickly as the genre exploded, it went away; by the early 2000's fighting games were a niche genre, with only Namco continuing to invest in elaborate entries in their staple Tekken and Soul Calibur series. Newcomer Arc System Works found popularity with the 2D Guilty Gear series, but it was clear that the resources behind such games were stretched thin - they had the gameplay, but limited animation and recycled game assets harshly.
It can be foolish to ignore cycles and assume that the pendulum of popularity doesn't swing in both directions, but fighters were one genre that were thought to be effectively dead outside of limited fandom.
There should have been a few signs to the contrary but they were easy to dismiss as glitches in the system. The Xbox Live Arcade release of Turbo Street Fighter 2 Hyperfighting was very popular, and that port was a disgraceful mess with terrible net code for online play. Smash Bros. Brawl sold well - but Smash Bros. is not a real fighting game - so they say. Soul Calibur IV did well, but perhaps it was because the female characters had larger breasts. Even tiny SNK Playmore, with their budgets counted in seeming handfuls of yen, was investing in an elaborate revival of The King of Fighters (KoF XII).
And so, with fans demanding it, and game director Yoshinori Ono pushing for it, Capcom decided to take a chance on Street Fighter again. It would not be a low-budget attempt to service nostalgia, as with the terrible Capcom Fighting Jam of years earlier or a repackaging for XBLA and PSN. It would be a high tech, sophisticated game with all new assets, a large ad campaign, and specialized 3rd party controllers and joysticks. This was likely the make or break effort for a classic genre of games in the mainstream; had SFIV failed to generate much interest, the brand and the genre would probably have been buried at Capcom for another decade at least.
As it turns out, the interest around SFIV has, evidently, been huge. Some pundits credit this to SFIV playing on nostalgia after all - the cast in the game centers around the original 12 "World Warriors" From plain vanilla Street Fighter 2. However, there is nothing wrong with some kinds of nostalgia; no matter how fans try to spin it, one major reason why Street Fighter III failed to gain traction at initial release was that it tossed out too much of the classic cast in favor of strange and unusual new character designs. That SFIII eventually gained hardcore acceptance was due to more to grudging approval and the need for a game to play than natural enthusiasm.
Another aspect, I personally believe, of Street Fighter IV's popularity is that people can have longer memories than it seems at times, and people remember why they liked Street Fighter. It wasn't just the characters; it was the way Street Fighter played. Many people have never gotten interested in 3D fighting games such as Virtua Fighter or Tekken, or even recent years 2D games such as Guilty Gear. I would posit that the problem with these games is that they lack the accessibility of core Street Fighter; at first glance this seems strange because some ways these games seem simpler; Virtua Fighter for instance uses fewer buttons. Things are not what they seem though; the magic formula that Street Fighter always had was clarity. Six buttons, but that meant the strength of the six types of strikes had a dedicated input. The joystick had to move, jump, crouch, and block, but it was done in a way that made the controller the character and it was all natural. Most of the special moves used logical inputs; charging back to gather power, rolling from down to forward to bring the character's arms up and throw a fireball. The combo system was deep but predictable and again, clear: in most cases it wasn't vague what moves would connect and one could rely on certain sequences always working without analog physics and juggles clouding the issue. There are few preset chains of attacks, hidden behind layer after layer of arbitrary command inputs that fatten a move list to make it appear there are more moves than there actually are. And finally, perhaps most important, was a particular balance of depth for any given character; while some characters were definitely more technical than others and required more time to master, for the most part, one could learn to play one character and then play any other with minimal adjustment. The strength of other games - that a single character could take a lifetime to master - was also their weakness. Street Fighter was inviting but not shallow.
Even the hardcore fans were highly skeptical about Street Fighter IV because the game used a 3D graphic engine even if the game was on a 2D plane. They rightly protested that no 3D engine game had yet captured the precise feel of a sprite based fighting game. Many argued that it was technically impossible. Half the fanbase though SFIV would be a disaster.
Then they played it.
Street Fighter IV has sold out in Japan after a few days on the street. Really sold out. Every physical copy in the country is gone.
The custom, expensive, $150 joysticks created for the game received dozens of times the pre-orders than was anticipated for such niche accessories.
Some professional reviews of the game have been so bold as to claim it defines the fighting game genre even as it gets back to basics and sets the bar for everyone high; very high.
If anything, SFIV might end up being a lesson to everyone that what people want doesn't always change; it's just easy for things to become muddled and distracted. People still want chocolate ice cream and pepperoni pizza; but when there is only poorly made pizza and cheap, tasteless ice cream, they'll move on to something else. That doesn't mean they don't still want chocolate and pizza.
This is the game that Capcom didn't want to make, and hasn't wanted to make for over a decade. Nobody wanted fighting games they thought, and it wouldn't be possible to spend any real money on making a good one. At best, you package the past for the nostalgic with inexpensive re-releases of old assets and emulated games. They made the impossible game anyway and the pre-order numbers in the west are supposedly outrageous compared to what was forecast. If this all pans out, Yoshinori Ono will be one of the most vindicated men in the game industry. (He will also have a blank check to make more fighting games.)
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Tuesday Carnivore Corner
We apologize for the lack of updates on exciting dinosaur facts. We have been attempting to dislodge the spinosaurus from the Christmas tree for five weeks. Tuesday Carnivore Corner will return as soon as technical difficulties can be addressed.
However, a dinosaur fact meanwhile: some dinosaurs were large and some were small.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
The Thinkie Corner: Prince of Persia
We picked up the new 2008 Prince of Persia reboot title for Xbox 360 this past Christmas. I gave the game a cursory glance, and played through its tutorial section, but with pressing issues put it into gaming backlog. A few nights ago, I pulled it out again, and began playing in earnest.
My first impression of Prince of Persia 2k8 was middling. I wasn't sure where it wanted to go; I came into the game with a prejudice gleaned from hardcore gamers: that the new Prince was trying hard to capture the currently trendy "casual" gamer audience, and while very well produced and slick, was easy and afraid to punish the player for making mistakes. In fact, the mechanic of death had been removed from the game - you literally cannot "die" in the context of Prince of Persia's game world: what happens on the screen.
Instead, you have a female companion, Elika, who magically assists you in platforming. She flies to lift you for double jumps. If you fall, Elika rescues you. In combat, a mortal blow results in Elika pushing the enemy away and allowing you to recover.
There's a lot of ways in which this could go wrong. It would have been very easy for a very stupid game to be created, especially depending on how the development team viewed the "casual" gamer, if in fact, that was their real motivation for so drastically departing from videogame convention. These days, the big game publishers read "casual" to mean "girls, parents, people who no patience to become skilled players, and the stupid".
But playing Prince of Persia now, I think something very different is going on. I don't know how much of it was intentional on the part of the development team. It may be good fortune. Or perhaps it's organic - the inevitable and natural result of re-thinking the paradigms of dificulty curve and character death in an action game.
To a large degree, the new Prince in PoP 2k8 plays with himself. (No, not that way. At least, not on-screen. He does act like a pretty randy fellow.) Controls are simplified, not in number of buttons employed, but in manual actions the player must input to achieve traditional puzzle-platforming actions. Often the Prince will automatically run up walls at the right time, grapple edges on his own, and engage in mini-scripted sequences when the game decides he needs to. The immediate impression from the hardcore gamer perspective is that the game is dumbed down; it's playing itself.
This is very similar to the hardcore reaction to Final Fantasy XII: in that game, the "Gambit" system which allowed for player scripted, automated party combat was heavily mocked because it removed traditional manual input and thus "the actual gameplay". (Even though it was still totally possible to turn off Gambits and play manually. Go figure.) Yet, many people adapted and realized what the Gambit system was doing: formalizing the role that the player had always had in a traditional Japanese RPG: that of team strategist. Manually pushing "SWORDS" ten thousand times over the course of the game was not "gameplay". It was a cumbersome menu holdover from the days before somebody thought to make a user-friendly programming language (aka, Gambits). Today, Final Fantasy XII is more favorably recieved by players, most having gotten over their issues of perception with how the game is supposed to be played.
So back to Prince of Persia: as I remarked to Space Dinosaur Red last night after a long session with the game, "I have figured out why I like this game so much. It's vastly entertaining."
See, Prince 2k8 solves a big problem with the contemporary Epic Game. Ever since game developers got the technology to (begin to) imitate Hollywood Blockbuster Action Films, they've been determined to all become DMBs. (Digital Michael Bays.) The rush to prove geek parity with everyone's prior favorite form of entertainment - the movies - has been headlong and reckless, with things such as good game design principles being trampled by the herd. Now, games are crammed with elaborate non-interactive (or minimally, Simon Says-button minigame interactive) cut scenes in which the player character(s) dance around and perform acts of destruction and Kung Fu Action that would be really helpful in the actual game. Except most of the time, when control reverts to the player, the ugly truth reasserts itself: everyone is so hot to design the bigger, badder movie scenes that nobody is rethinking the interactive scenes. The stereotype that is growing staler by the minute is one where your game hero is a slow moving, awkward manniquin who has almost none of the style and capabilities that he displays in the cut scene movies - or, at least, is far more robotic and, well, "game like", with none of the dynamic flair displayed in the movies. Well poo.
But Prince 2k8 entertains the hell out of me because my Game Guy is as cool, if not cooler, in the actual gameplay as in the cut scenes (of which there are very few non-interactive ones). And this is not achieved by making the cinematic nature toned down and more gamelike: the problem that Fable II encountered when it tried to make all story elements in-game, which resulted in badly scripted, badly animated wooden dummies all standing around calmly talking about dramatic matters of life and death, with your hero staring into space during all of it. The semi-scripted nature of all the Prince's moves allows for a great deal of personality, that is still, generally speaking, under the player's control. It's true, the player may not have nit-picky precise control over each arm and leg with ten buttons, four triggers, and fifty hotkey combinations, but all of the Fun Shit is initiated by the player - you point the Prince where he should go, initiate the gross movements, and enjoy an amazing show as he jumps, flips, grapples, and swings his way through the environment as if, well, as if you're watching a cut scene. Except you're not.
But what about the challenge? And not dying? Ever?
Well, that too, is a bit of an illusion. You fall in Prince 2k8. A lot. You get beat down by enemies too, a lot. Elika rescues you, but she doesn't win the game for you. Falling will frequently see you carried back to the beginning of a lot sequence of jumps. Failure in combat will result in the enemy being allowed to recover too, resetting his life bar. You don't die in Prince of Persia so much as you fall back, regroup, and try again. In the end, it's actually little different than dying, the screen going red, and your character enjoying a death scene, only to be teleported to a respawn point. So what's the difference? Why did they bother doing it? Because: it doesn't break the narrative. It doesn't break your concentration. It sooths frustration. There is not the same feeling of loss of progression, of time wasted; only backing up a little, and learning. Plus, it serves to indeed make the game more movie-like. Motion pictures do not involve time loops where the protagonist dies over and over. Well, outside of Groundhog Day but it was clever so may pass. Yet another problem of game makers wanting to be movie makers: nobody has been accounting for how adding conventional ideas of interactivity and fail states to a movie narrative could go wrong.
And so, in the end, Prince 2k8 feels more like an "interactive movie" than most games that make much more pretense - and have much larger budgets - have managed to achieve. Even the one-on-one duels with enemies is quite enjoyable due to the ease with which a cinematic presentation and style can be maintained. But unlike some of the professional reviewers' criticisms would suggest, I am not finding the game to be "casual friendly" in any way that is (for the most part) actually bad.
And therein lays another funny revelation: I'm halfway through the game, but can already easily imagine myself playing it again and again. Why? Because it's fun. Playing one of these movie-like games where, at last, the downsides of shoe-horning videogame conventions in have been removed, turns out to be really great, imagine that. See, another problem Epic Games have faced is an increasing tendency for bloat to overcome fun. In fact, it has become a dichotomy that people expect: "fun" games are short, arcade-style romps that can only be enjoyed in short bursts: the Geometry Wars, Wii Sports mentality. "Epic" games, well, playing an Epic Game has become a mission. One is expected to wade through hours of tutorials, complexity, and invest great amounts of time. Plus, this genre of game is becoming increasingly disposable. On a game forum recently, I saw the question asked: should you be expected to replay games? An incredible question to ask, in a way - should you expect to see any movie more than once? Listen to a song more than once?
Yet there was a valid reason to ask it: with Epic Games dominating the hardcore gamer landscape, gamers no longer have time to play them more than once (if they finish them at all) - at least, not for the sake of merely beating them on principle, since, you know, they did pay money for them and stuff. Why replay an Epic Game when there's new Epic Games waiting? Perhaps the only good reason would be if the Epic Game was just as rewarding to play again as the first time. Some gamers don't think this is possible, but, I suspect, and Prince of Persia is proving, that's a fallacy. There is a problem of padding as well, to be sure, as many long games are guilty of padding the experience up with dull tasks. Here, Prince 2k8 stumbles a little in principle, as it too involves a bit of "padding" collecting light seeds after an area of the game has been cleared. Yet, even this collectathon mechanic has been re-thought, to a degree: when a player clears an area, it changes dramatically, becoming a sunlit, idylic version of its former evil self. The light seed collection essentially invites the player on a relaxing tour of the local, with many intentionally placed vistas to stop and admire. It provides a break and sets up a rhythm that, in its own way, is still cinematic. (Many of the best filmmakers know to maintain tension by pacing their film with regular intervals of calm and panic.)
Prince of Persia 2008 is not the best game ever; its characterization is a little goofy, with bizarre anachronisms in the dialog that are a dodgy attempt to make the Prince sound hip and edgy. While it is not nearly as "easy" as many hardcore gamers (and hardcore reviewers) have felt, it still could be ramped up further. The scripted acrobatics sometimes go wrong, with the Prince buffering too many button presses and leaping off to hisdeath embarassed rescue. And it doesn't provide the same kinds of thrills as more conventional games - there's still a place for in-game death, and more sharply defined danger. (Though one of the game's crowning achievements is the subtle, cunning way it often makes you feel as if you're in mortal danger even though you should know that you cannot die on-screen.) But it does solve a lot of the problems with heavily cinnematic games in terms of the naturalness of their presentation. It does strike a new balance, where playing such a game is more akin than ever before to watching a supposed ideal (which has never actually been adequately explained or understood) of an "interactive film". I obviously haven't seen the ending yet, but based on what I've heard (and more importantly, on why some people didn't like it), I have a feeling I'll be satisfied.
This is perhaps what long, Epic Games with a cinematic storytelling flair could continue evolving into: what formerly counted as watching a serialized television show where the "viewer" is a partner every step of the way in making the action unfold, and thus feels more involved in it (and more rewarded). It might not work for every kind of story, either. But I do have the funny feeling in the back of my dinosaur-shaped skull that when it comes to big, saucy summer popcorn flicks, I'd rather be playing (or participating) in something like Prince of Persia rather than just sitting through a non-interactive version on the screen. Even with Baysplosions.
My first impression of Prince of Persia 2k8 was middling. I wasn't sure where it wanted to go; I came into the game with a prejudice gleaned from hardcore gamers: that the new Prince was trying hard to capture the currently trendy "casual" gamer audience, and while very well produced and slick, was easy and afraid to punish the player for making mistakes. In fact, the mechanic of death had been removed from the game - you literally cannot "die" in the context of Prince of Persia's game world: what happens on the screen.
Instead, you have a female companion, Elika, who magically assists you in platforming. She flies to lift you for double jumps. If you fall, Elika rescues you. In combat, a mortal blow results in Elika pushing the enemy away and allowing you to recover.
There's a lot of ways in which this could go wrong. It would have been very easy for a very stupid game to be created, especially depending on how the development team viewed the "casual" gamer, if in fact, that was their real motivation for so drastically departing from videogame convention. These days, the big game publishers read "casual" to mean "girls, parents, people who no patience to become skilled players, and the stupid".
But playing Prince of Persia now, I think something very different is going on. I don't know how much of it was intentional on the part of the development team. It may be good fortune. Or perhaps it's organic - the inevitable and natural result of re-thinking the paradigms of dificulty curve and character death in an action game.
To a large degree, the new Prince in PoP 2k8 plays with himself. (No, not that way. At least, not on-screen. He does act like a pretty randy fellow.) Controls are simplified, not in number of buttons employed, but in manual actions the player must input to achieve traditional puzzle-platforming actions. Often the Prince will automatically run up walls at the right time, grapple edges on his own, and engage in mini-scripted sequences when the game decides he needs to. The immediate impression from the hardcore gamer perspective is that the game is dumbed down; it's playing itself.
This is very similar to the hardcore reaction to Final Fantasy XII: in that game, the "Gambit" system which allowed for player scripted, automated party combat was heavily mocked because it removed traditional manual input and thus "the actual gameplay". (Even though it was still totally possible to turn off Gambits and play manually. Go figure.) Yet, many people adapted and realized what the Gambit system was doing: formalizing the role that the player had always had in a traditional Japanese RPG: that of team strategist. Manually pushing "SWORDS" ten thousand times over the course of the game was not "gameplay". It was a cumbersome menu holdover from the days before somebody thought to make a user-friendly programming language (aka, Gambits). Today, Final Fantasy XII is more favorably recieved by players, most having gotten over their issues of perception with how the game is supposed to be played.
So back to Prince of Persia: as I remarked to Space Dinosaur Red last night after a long session with the game, "I have figured out why I like this game so much. It's vastly entertaining."
See, Prince 2k8 solves a big problem with the contemporary Epic Game. Ever since game developers got the technology to (begin to) imitate Hollywood Blockbuster Action Films, they've been determined to all become DMBs. (Digital Michael Bays.) The rush to prove geek parity with everyone's prior favorite form of entertainment - the movies - has been headlong and reckless, with things such as good game design principles being trampled by the herd. Now, games are crammed with elaborate non-interactive (or minimally, Simon Says-button minigame interactive) cut scenes in which the player character(s) dance around and perform acts of destruction and Kung Fu Action that would be really helpful in the actual game. Except most of the time, when control reverts to the player, the ugly truth reasserts itself: everyone is so hot to design the bigger, badder movie scenes that nobody is rethinking the interactive scenes. The stereotype that is growing staler by the minute is one where your game hero is a slow moving, awkward manniquin who has almost none of the style and capabilities that he displays in the cut scene movies - or, at least, is far more robotic and, well, "game like", with none of the dynamic flair displayed in the movies. Well poo.
But Prince 2k8 entertains the hell out of me because my Game Guy is as cool, if not cooler, in the actual gameplay as in the cut scenes (of which there are very few non-interactive ones). And this is not achieved by making the cinematic nature toned down and more gamelike: the problem that Fable II encountered when it tried to make all story elements in-game, which resulted in badly scripted, badly animated wooden dummies all standing around calmly talking about dramatic matters of life and death, with your hero staring into space during all of it. The semi-scripted nature of all the Prince's moves allows for a great deal of personality, that is still, generally speaking, under the player's control. It's true, the player may not have nit-picky precise control over each arm and leg with ten buttons, four triggers, and fifty hotkey combinations, but all of the Fun Shit is initiated by the player - you point the Prince where he should go, initiate the gross movements, and enjoy an amazing show as he jumps, flips, grapples, and swings his way through the environment as if, well, as if you're watching a cut scene. Except you're not.
But what about the challenge? And not dying? Ever?
Well, that too, is a bit of an illusion. You fall in Prince 2k8. A lot. You get beat down by enemies too, a lot. Elika rescues you, but she doesn't win the game for you. Falling will frequently see you carried back to the beginning of a lot sequence of jumps. Failure in combat will result in the enemy being allowed to recover too, resetting his life bar. You don't die in Prince of Persia so much as you fall back, regroup, and try again. In the end, it's actually little different than dying, the screen going red, and your character enjoying a death scene, only to be teleported to a respawn point. So what's the difference? Why did they bother doing it? Because: it doesn't break the narrative. It doesn't break your concentration. It sooths frustration. There is not the same feeling of loss of progression, of time wasted; only backing up a little, and learning. Plus, it serves to indeed make the game more movie-like. Motion pictures do not involve time loops where the protagonist dies over and over. Well, outside of Groundhog Day but it was clever so may pass. Yet another problem of game makers wanting to be movie makers: nobody has been accounting for how adding conventional ideas of interactivity and fail states to a movie narrative could go wrong.
And so, in the end, Prince 2k8 feels more like an "interactive movie" than most games that make much more pretense - and have much larger budgets - have managed to achieve. Even the one-on-one duels with enemies is quite enjoyable due to the ease with which a cinematic presentation and style can be maintained. But unlike some of the professional reviewers' criticisms would suggest, I am not finding the game to be "casual friendly" in any way that is (for the most part) actually bad.
And therein lays another funny revelation: I'm halfway through the game, but can already easily imagine myself playing it again and again. Why? Because it's fun. Playing one of these movie-like games where, at last, the downsides of shoe-horning videogame conventions in have been removed, turns out to be really great, imagine that. See, another problem Epic Games have faced is an increasing tendency for bloat to overcome fun. In fact, it has become a dichotomy that people expect: "fun" games are short, arcade-style romps that can only be enjoyed in short bursts: the Geometry Wars, Wii Sports mentality. "Epic" games, well, playing an Epic Game has become a mission. One is expected to wade through hours of tutorials, complexity, and invest great amounts of time. Plus, this genre of game is becoming increasingly disposable. On a game forum recently, I saw the question asked: should you be expected to replay games? An incredible question to ask, in a way - should you expect to see any movie more than once? Listen to a song more than once?
Yet there was a valid reason to ask it: with Epic Games dominating the hardcore gamer landscape, gamers no longer have time to play them more than once (if they finish them at all) - at least, not for the sake of merely beating them on principle, since, you know, they did pay money for them and stuff. Why replay an Epic Game when there's new Epic Games waiting? Perhaps the only good reason would be if the Epic Game was just as rewarding to play again as the first time. Some gamers don't think this is possible, but, I suspect, and Prince of Persia is proving, that's a fallacy. There is a problem of padding as well, to be sure, as many long games are guilty of padding the experience up with dull tasks. Here, Prince 2k8 stumbles a little in principle, as it too involves a bit of "padding" collecting light seeds after an area of the game has been cleared. Yet, even this collectathon mechanic has been re-thought, to a degree: when a player clears an area, it changes dramatically, becoming a sunlit, idylic version of its former evil self. The light seed collection essentially invites the player on a relaxing tour of the local, with many intentionally placed vistas to stop and admire. It provides a break and sets up a rhythm that, in its own way, is still cinematic. (Many of the best filmmakers know to maintain tension by pacing their film with regular intervals of calm and panic.)
Prince of Persia 2008 is not the best game ever; its characterization is a little goofy, with bizarre anachronisms in the dialog that are a dodgy attempt to make the Prince sound hip and edgy. While it is not nearly as "easy" as many hardcore gamers (and hardcore reviewers) have felt, it still could be ramped up further. The scripted acrobatics sometimes go wrong, with the Prince buffering too many button presses and leaping off to his
This is perhaps what long, Epic Games with a cinematic storytelling flair could continue evolving into: what formerly counted as watching a serialized television show where the "viewer" is a partner every step of the way in making the action unfold, and thus feels more involved in it (and more rewarded). It might not work for every kind of story, either. But I do have the funny feeling in the back of my dinosaur-shaped skull that when it comes to big, saucy summer popcorn flicks, I'd rather be playing (or participating) in something like Prince of Persia rather than just sitting through a non-interactive version on the screen. Even with Baysplosions.
Monday, December 29, 2008
The Thinkie Corner
There is an oddity in the way human beings think. Being a Space Dinosaur, this sometimes stands out to me. People have a habit of trying to justify a situation with only the present context about themselves. If a fellow is drinking a bit much today, it's because he merely had a hard day at work; not because he has a pattern of drinking too much.
Something in video games that seems to entrap even the more clever analysts is judging the success or failure of a game or platform or gadget based on its current popularity; it's the old trap of "if that game was any good, it would have sold better".
People especially like to apply this to a long running series.
For instance, a number of people keep insisting that newer entries in the Super Mario and Legend of Zelda series are not as good as their predecessors because they haven't sold as many X as previous version's X. Based on sales figures alone, there is an assertion of absolute quality - if Super Mario Galaxy was as good as Super Mario Bros. 3 or Mario 64, it would have sold as many units.
Usually, these assertions seem tinted with nostalgia, one suspicious detail. (We all know that whatever game wowed you first as a kid may forever remain "special" feeling in some way you can never explain.)
However, being more objective about it, it's not that simple.
For instance, Super Mario Bros. 3 sold something like 17 million copies worldwide. That's an impressive number. By comparison, Super Mario World 2: Yoshi's Island, sold 4 million or so copies back in the day. The sales figures would tell us that Yoshi's Island is far inferior.
But ask most any hardened gamer, veteran of the 8- and 16-bit wars. While they'll enthuse about amazing Super Mario Bros. 3 was, most will likely tell you that hands down, Yoshi's Island is categorically the best platform game Nintendo has ever created. What gives? Any number of possible factors. Mario 3 was released on the Nintendo Entertainment System, the phenomenon of the 80's; Mario 3 was incredibly hyped with a brilliant marketing campaign. And the NES had little true competition for games at the time - including little competition for similar platformers on the NES itself. It was Mario or nothing.
Yoshi came out at the end of the Super Nintendo's life cycle. It was released with, comparatively, little hyperbole or mainstream attention. Videogames had become fragmented, with the Sega Genesis stealing a real portion of Nintendo's thunder. Sonic the Hedgehog was cooler with the kids for a while. The fact that Yoshi was the better game probably meant little; it likely was impressive that it sold 4 million copies in the first place.
Fast forward to today, and the same hardcore gamers (and game pundits) who would be quick to explain the sales figures of Mario 3 vs Yoshi's Island fall into the trap of disparaging Nintendo's new games by comparing sales numbers. Zelda: Twilight Princess is inferior to the Nintendo 64's Ocarina of Time, obviously, because it has sold less than half the same number of units. Excuses are made, such as Twilight Princess being a rehash of Ocarina, etc, and the game is criticized for many attributes which are effectively identical to Ocarina of Time (a slow, boring introduction, lifeless overworld, cumbersome management system, no new, creative items - even though TP technically has as much new content and ideas as OoT relative to the prior Zelda game.)
But then, Ocarina of Time was one of the few games available on its platform of any real quality at the time, after the platform had already been established with a growing userbase; it had little competition in terms of mindspace on the list of hot, must-play games, and it had a groundswell of incredible hype behind it. Twilight Princess, among many factors, suffered from Nintendo's countless release delays as they hedged their bets, waiting as long as they could to decide whether they wanted to move the game to the Wii as a launch title.
Not necessarily a defense of any flaws that Twilight Princess does have, mind you, as it has them. Though in my opinion, with nostalgia filtered out, it's still objectively a superior game to Ocarina of Time - just as, nostalgia deleted, A Link to the Past on the Super Nintendo is probably a better total package than either of them.
Something in video games that seems to entrap even the more clever analysts is judging the success or failure of a game or platform or gadget based on its current popularity; it's the old trap of "if that game was any good, it would have sold better".
People especially like to apply this to a long running series.
For instance, a number of people keep insisting that newer entries in the Super Mario and Legend of Zelda series are not as good as their predecessors because they haven't sold as many X as previous version's X. Based on sales figures alone, there is an assertion of absolute quality - if Super Mario Galaxy was as good as Super Mario Bros. 3 or Mario 64, it would have sold as many units.
Usually, these assertions seem tinted with nostalgia, one suspicious detail. (We all know that whatever game wowed you first as a kid may forever remain "special" feeling in some way you can never explain.)
However, being more objective about it, it's not that simple.
For instance, Super Mario Bros. 3 sold something like 17 million copies worldwide. That's an impressive number. By comparison, Super Mario World 2: Yoshi's Island, sold 4 million or so copies back in the day. The sales figures would tell us that Yoshi's Island is far inferior.
But ask most any hardened gamer, veteran of the 8- and 16-bit wars. While they'll enthuse about amazing Super Mario Bros. 3 was, most will likely tell you that hands down, Yoshi's Island is categorically the best platform game Nintendo has ever created. What gives? Any number of possible factors. Mario 3 was released on the Nintendo Entertainment System, the phenomenon of the 80's; Mario 3 was incredibly hyped with a brilliant marketing campaign. And the NES had little true competition for games at the time - including little competition for similar platformers on the NES itself. It was Mario or nothing.
Yoshi came out at the end of the Super Nintendo's life cycle. It was released with, comparatively, little hyperbole or mainstream attention. Videogames had become fragmented, with the Sega Genesis stealing a real portion of Nintendo's thunder. Sonic the Hedgehog was cooler with the kids for a while. The fact that Yoshi was the better game probably meant little; it likely was impressive that it sold 4 million copies in the first place.
Fast forward to today, and the same hardcore gamers (and game pundits) who would be quick to explain the sales figures of Mario 3 vs Yoshi's Island fall into the trap of disparaging Nintendo's new games by comparing sales numbers. Zelda: Twilight Princess is inferior to the Nintendo 64's Ocarina of Time, obviously, because it has sold less than half the same number of units. Excuses are made, such as Twilight Princess being a rehash of Ocarina, etc, and the game is criticized for many attributes which are effectively identical to Ocarina of Time (a slow, boring introduction, lifeless overworld, cumbersome management system, no new, creative items - even though TP technically has as much new content and ideas as OoT relative to the prior Zelda game.)
But then, Ocarina of Time was one of the few games available on its platform of any real quality at the time, after the platform had already been established with a growing userbase; it had little competition in terms of mindspace on the list of hot, must-play games, and it had a groundswell of incredible hype behind it. Twilight Princess, among many factors, suffered from Nintendo's countless release delays as they hedged their bets, waiting as long as they could to decide whether they wanted to move the game to the Wii as a launch title.
Not necessarily a defense of any flaws that Twilight Princess does have, mind you, as it has them. Though in my opinion, with nostalgia filtered out, it's still objectively a superior game to Ocarina of Time - just as, nostalgia deleted, A Link to the Past on the Super Nintendo is probably a better total package than either of them.
[The Thinkie Corner]
On the Sean Malstrom blog, this entry talks about how games focused on user-generated content are failing. So the argument goes (in broad strokes), users don't want user-generated content for its own sake - at least most of them - but when it prolongs a game experience they already want more of.
I do not always agree with Malstrom; I believe he is too easily dismissive of factors that do not fit his favorite models. For example, here, he tries to correlate LittleBigPlanet's focus on user generated content with its slow sales out of the gate but I think here Malstrom is grasping for another big-name title to support his argument. LittleBigPlanet doesn't share, I would argue, the fatal flaws inherent in the other examples he cites. LBP is a "warm" game that has plenty of charm and personality of its own, and its default content - the developer-made story campaign levels - are addictive and brilliant. While not everyone has liked the game, the majority of those who have played it seem to have come away charmed and wanting more of it. Also, the user community is gaining steam with each passing week, and there is great enthusiasm over the release of new stages. Some users are even beginning to design entire campaigns of linked levels, complete with characters and storyline.
I suspect the slow sales of LBP have little to do with a focus on user generated content. Sony's ad campaign for LBP did not appear to focus very much on the game being a tool kit to build your own stages, though stage sharing was mentioned. For the most part, LBP was sold on the notion of "fun" - joyous scenes of four players romping through a fantastical cooperative world. And I believe it was doomed to relative failure (at the beginning - wait one) on the Playstation 3 because of that. Much has been made about the PS3's slow sales and small userbase relative to the XBox 360 and Planet Wii. But I wonder if the hidden shank in the PS3's userbase is that due to the relative lack of must-have software (though this is changing) and its high price, the majority of people who have bought a PS3 to date are not the sort who would rush out to buy a cute and charming game like LittleBigPlanet on day one. Some stereotypes do have a basis in reality: so far, the PS3 may have been most attractive to:
A. Videophiles seeking a package deal on a Blu-Ray player. And,
B. Hardcore Sony Lifestyle fans with lots of disposable cash.
In the case of A, these folks may not be buying any games but the most mainstream to begin with. In the case of B, these guys may likely be those who are only interested in traditionally (and stereotypically) "Playstation" games: Racers, 3rd-person hack and slash, first person shooters, Grand Theft Auto, Metal Gear Solid, and sports. I wonder if to the majority of the current PS3 users, LittleBigPlanet looks like an offensively candy-coated attempt by Sony to attract some of the Wii's customer base, this notion predicated on the assumption that almost everyone who owns a Wii is a child or a soccer mom who mainly buy brightly colored Mario games.
However, I don't think the initial (relatively) poor sales of LittleBigPlanet mean the game is a "bomb".
This leads into recent talk about a category of games called "evergreen". What is an evergreen title? As the reasoning goes, it is a game that sells a consistent, healthy number of units over a long period of time. The game industry has become locked into a "launch rush" cycle of game releases where the majority of a game's sales happen within the first few weeks of release. If a game doesn't sell well immediately, it usually drops off the radar and sales gradually trickle down to nothing. Evergreen titles go against this trend. They may or may not sell big at first, but they do keep on selling across a platform's lifespan. One classic example of this was Super Smash Bros. Melee on the Nintendo Gamecube. Melee was a big hit inititally, but after its release in 2001, it went on to move significant units every week for six years. Most stores still kept copies of Melee in stock after they had closed down their Gamecube section. (Since the Nintendo Wii plays Gamecube games.)
However, what makes an evergreen title evergreen? In this day and age, software publishers have become addicted to the idea of the yearly refresh, with big franchises having a new entry like clockwork each season. Planned obsolescence appears to be a check box on the typical videogame's design document these days. Sometimes, a game might continue to sell well for a while without having the qualities of an evergreen title - this could be due to trends and popularity of a brand name too. A real evergreen game however, I would argue, is one that is designed without a single demographic or marketing buzzword in mind. It's easy to engineer a mega-hit that takes advantage of seasonal fashion: if urban crime is the hot theme this year, release the next Saint's Row. If World War II shooters are in demand, shove out another classic-era Call of Duty.
Real evergreen titles have themes and content that go beyond trends; they need some form of universal appeal, even if they have a particular theme or setting, such as the inner city or the second World War. Traditonally, Nintendo has a knack of making such games because they have crafted their own idiosyncratic universe and thematic language. Super Mario, Zelda, and Metroid exist within their own realms that may share some recognizable themes - cartoon worlds, high fantasy, and science fiction - but by and large are "their own things". Some other developers such as Valve and Blizzard achieve the same thing; even when their game uses the tropes of a certain genre, they take it and make it their own, giving the game a timeless quality.
I do believe that LittleBigPlanet, to use it as the current example, generally fits the bill for an evergreen game. Its handicraft world is as idiosyncratic as they come, and there is nothing to pin the game down to any one era or gaming trend. Plus it's charming in its own right. But its world is not something in vogue with the majority of hardcore gamers right now; so it's something they were always going to pass up initially.
The thing is, making an evergreen title is the more difficult route to take, I'd wager. Seasonal titles can be phoned in - the trends of the market and the hot talk around the gamer's watercooler (or pizza box and beer chest) all but design the game for you. Trying to move to a different level and design a game that transcends fads, well, that's the tough part. In a sense, the game industry as it stands now may be partially inimicable to evergreen game development. An evergreen title has to be a certain sort of risk - just look at LBP. Sony spend a great deal of money and time attempting to craft a mega-hit. Plenty of pundits - who I think are being quite short-sighted - are cawing at the perceived failure of the game, and saying what a mistake it was for Sony to pin so much on it. Investing in a game that may not directly take advantage of this year's favorite trends to increase its chances of an initial sales windfall could seem an unwise move to the mentality of many contemporary publishers. On the other hand, as publishers like Nintendo have shown, it can really pay off in the long run.
I do not always agree with Malstrom; I believe he is too easily dismissive of factors that do not fit his favorite models. For example, here, he tries to correlate LittleBigPlanet's focus on user generated content with its slow sales out of the gate but I think here Malstrom is grasping for another big-name title to support his argument. LittleBigPlanet doesn't share, I would argue, the fatal flaws inherent in the other examples he cites. LBP is a "warm" game that has plenty of charm and personality of its own, and its default content - the developer-made story campaign levels - are addictive and brilliant. While not everyone has liked the game, the majority of those who have played it seem to have come away charmed and wanting more of it. Also, the user community is gaining steam with each passing week, and there is great enthusiasm over the release of new stages. Some users are even beginning to design entire campaigns of linked levels, complete with characters and storyline.
I suspect the slow sales of LBP have little to do with a focus on user generated content. Sony's ad campaign for LBP did not appear to focus very much on the game being a tool kit to build your own stages, though stage sharing was mentioned. For the most part, LBP was sold on the notion of "fun" - joyous scenes of four players romping through a fantastical cooperative world. And I believe it was doomed to relative failure (at the beginning - wait one) on the Playstation 3 because of that. Much has been made about the PS3's slow sales and small userbase relative to the XBox 360 and Planet Wii. But I wonder if the hidden shank in the PS3's userbase is that due to the relative lack of must-have software (though this is changing) and its high price, the majority of people who have bought a PS3 to date are not the sort who would rush out to buy a cute and charming game like LittleBigPlanet on day one. Some stereotypes do have a basis in reality: so far, the PS3 may have been most attractive to:
A. Videophiles seeking a package deal on a Blu-Ray player. And,
B. Hardcore Sony Lifestyle fans with lots of disposable cash.
In the case of A, these folks may not be buying any games but the most mainstream to begin with. In the case of B, these guys may likely be those who are only interested in traditionally (and stereotypically) "Playstation" games: Racers, 3rd-person hack and slash, first person shooters, Grand Theft Auto, Metal Gear Solid, and sports. I wonder if to the majority of the current PS3 users, LittleBigPlanet looks like an offensively candy-coated attempt by Sony to attract some of the Wii's customer base, this notion predicated on the assumption that almost everyone who owns a Wii is a child or a soccer mom who mainly buy brightly colored Mario games.
However, I don't think the initial (relatively) poor sales of LittleBigPlanet mean the game is a "bomb".
This leads into recent talk about a category of games called "evergreen". What is an evergreen title? As the reasoning goes, it is a game that sells a consistent, healthy number of units over a long period of time. The game industry has become locked into a "launch rush" cycle of game releases where the majority of a game's sales happen within the first few weeks of release. If a game doesn't sell well immediately, it usually drops off the radar and sales gradually trickle down to nothing. Evergreen titles go against this trend. They may or may not sell big at first, but they do keep on selling across a platform's lifespan. One classic example of this was Super Smash Bros. Melee on the Nintendo Gamecube. Melee was a big hit inititally, but after its release in 2001, it went on to move significant units every week for six years. Most stores still kept copies of Melee in stock after they had closed down their Gamecube section. (Since the Nintendo Wii plays Gamecube games.)
However, what makes an evergreen title evergreen? In this day and age, software publishers have become addicted to the idea of the yearly refresh, with big franchises having a new entry like clockwork each season. Planned obsolescence appears to be a check box on the typical videogame's design document these days. Sometimes, a game might continue to sell well for a while without having the qualities of an evergreen title - this could be due to trends and popularity of a brand name too. A real evergreen game however, I would argue, is one that is designed without a single demographic or marketing buzzword in mind. It's easy to engineer a mega-hit that takes advantage of seasonal fashion: if urban crime is the hot theme this year, release the next Saint's Row. If World War II shooters are in demand, shove out another classic-era Call of Duty.
Real evergreen titles have themes and content that go beyond trends; they need some form of universal appeal, even if they have a particular theme or setting, such as the inner city or the second World War. Traditonally, Nintendo has a knack of making such games because they have crafted their own idiosyncratic universe and thematic language. Super Mario, Zelda, and Metroid exist within their own realms that may share some recognizable themes - cartoon worlds, high fantasy, and science fiction - but by and large are "their own things". Some other developers such as Valve and Blizzard achieve the same thing; even when their game uses the tropes of a certain genre, they take it and make it their own, giving the game a timeless quality.
I do believe that LittleBigPlanet, to use it as the current example, generally fits the bill for an evergreen game. Its handicraft world is as idiosyncratic as they come, and there is nothing to pin the game down to any one era or gaming trend. Plus it's charming in its own right. But its world is not something in vogue with the majority of hardcore gamers right now; so it's something they were always going to pass up initially.
The thing is, making an evergreen title is the more difficult route to take, I'd wager. Seasonal titles can be phoned in - the trends of the market and the hot talk around the gamer's watercooler (or pizza box and beer chest) all but design the game for you. Trying to move to a different level and design a game that transcends fads, well, that's the tough part. In a sense, the game industry as it stands now may be partially inimicable to evergreen game development. An evergreen title has to be a certain sort of risk - just look at LBP. Sony spend a great deal of money and time attempting to craft a mega-hit. Plenty of pundits - who I think are being quite short-sighted - are cawing at the perceived failure of the game, and saying what a mistake it was for Sony to pin so much on it. Investing in a game that may not directly take advantage of this year's favorite trends to increase its chances of an initial sales windfall could seem an unwise move to the mentality of many contemporary publishers. On the other hand, as publishers like Nintendo have shown, it can really pay off in the long run.
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