Developers Shouldn't Use Cliff Notes.

Right off the bat, I should say that I'm really enjoying Castlevania: Lords of Shadow so far. I've only just started chapter 2, but I'm currently appreciating the slow-burn of both the game play and story. Be that as it may, I've already found my first brow-furrowing moment in the game. Ever heard of Shadow of the Colossus?

Well, the dudes at Konami sure have. The first boss fight in the game is, well, a rip-off from SotC. I don't say "complete rip-off" because the experience of actually fighting it isn't anywhere near as awesome as every encounter was in the PS2 classic. The fight in Castlevania is a dumbed-down version of the structure SotC used, but with a couple ground attacks thrown your way every now and then. Tell me if this sounds familiar:

First, you have to wait for the titan to slam his fist hard enough into the ground so that it gets stuck. When that happens, you run over to his fist and grab onto it, holding down the "grip" button so as to not fall off. You then proceed along the titan's body until you get to the round, glowing symbol, so that you can stab the shit out of it. Repeat on a couple more parts of its body, and you're done.

Yea, it's basically the Cliff Notes version of fighting a colossus. I could assume that someone on the development team just wanted to pay homage to a great game, and that would be relatively fine with me, I guess. But if you're going to steal from something, STEAL from it. Don't do a half-assed job.

A big reason the titan fight feels like a rush job is because your hand is held the entire time. Right when its fist gets stuck in the ground, the part you're supposed to latch onto starts glowing. Just as you begin holding the "grip" button, the titan's arm raises up and the next section for you to jump to glows like the last. There's not really any exploration or figuring out how to get around on its body; it's a shame, since those moments really stood out in SotC, and probably could have in Castlevania.

I ultimately came away from the fight with a better understanding of why no one has tried imitating SotC before now. It's hard to do well, and is made even harder by the fact that SotC isn't concerned with a lot of things other games are concerned with. SotC relies on atmosphere and implication for narrative; Castlevania's story is told in a similar vein to other action games. SotC's main game play mechanic involves giant, moving puzzles for the player to solve; Castlevania has multitudes of enemies, levels, combat, and bosses to take into consideration. What it all boils down to is the fact that such a boss design should at least be on par with its source material, or we're all just wasting our time and effort. I could go kill 15 other, better ones instead of a shitty retread.

I'm still enjoying the game, so I'll try to talk about some of the stuff I like next time. There's actually quite a lot.

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Cheap Thrills - Alan Wake

I recently reviewed Alan Wake for a school paper, so I figured I'd throw it up here. It's lengthier than most of the stuff I normally write, so be forewarned. I actually didn't get to address everything I wanted to because of length, so I might put up a separate post talking about those things. This one's worth it, though, because it's fucking awesome. Enjoy.


“But nightmares exist outside of logic, and there’s little fun to be had in explanations; they’re antithetical to the poetry of fear.” - Stephen King

Alan Wake, a psychological thriller developed by Remedy Entertainment for the Xbox 360, opens with the above quote by Stephen King, and the titular character narrating what seems to be the central theme of the game. According to Wake, the “Why?” is never as important as the emotions one goes through during a horrifying experience. There’s nothing wrong with that sentiment. In fact, I mostly agree with it. But Alan Wake forgoes the “Why?” almost entirely, in favor of nonsensical exposition and repetitive, tired shooting mechanics that would be more at home in Max Payne 3 than something rooted in psychological horror.

Alan Wake is a writer. After a string of best-sellers, he feels burnt out and ready for some rejuvenation, so he and his wife, Alice, retreat to the small town of Bright Falls. It’s a typical, if extraordinarily beautiful, mid-western American town, replete with trailer park communities and neighbors all on a first name basis. Bright Falls would normally make for the perfect getaway destination, but when Wake and his wife arrive, they quickly find something more sinister and violent lurking about the otherwise peaceful surroundings. His wife soon ends up missing, and the only clues to her whereabouts come in the form of torn manuscript pages from a story he doesn’t remember writing, but is obviously penned by him. As the game progresses, it’s made evident that whatever is written on the torn pages actually comes to pass. Armed with this knowledge, Wake tries desperately to find and save his wife from whatever is holding her captive.

Alan Wake’s premise was one of the things that caught my attention early on when the game was first announced. I figured the mountainous and woodsy terrain would make an excellent backdrop for psychologically-themed horror. Playing the first chapter of the game, which takes place inside one of Wake’s nightmares, communicates a world full of unique and scary situations. The very first enemy encounter is simply a man with an axe, but it’s not the weapon he wields that makes him terrifying. While blindly swinging the axe back-and-forth, the man assaults Wake’s fragile psyche by calling him a fraud and a horrible writer. The threat of physical harm may be obvious, but barrages of mental abuse, especially within the context of a nightmare, carry much more weight than wood and steel ever could.

Unfortunately, such a promising concept is all but abandoned shortly after the end of the first chapter. Gone are the venomous projections of Wake’s personal demons, and in their place are slews of non sequiturs about working at lumber mills and pumping gas. Part of who these people used to be is still inside them, but they are now owned by whatever entity is plaguing Bright Falls. That may sound intriguing, but by replacing the focus on Wake’s internal strife with random, nonsensical shouts about small town living, all the tension and fear is instantly siphoned away. Coupled with uniformly featureless faces and pitch-black appearances, the enemies in Alan Wake directly mirror the game’s inability to differentiate itself from countless other horror-themed experiences.

And at no time is that exemplified more than during a point about mid-way through the game, when Wake finds himself a guest in a local psychologist’s mental institution called “The Lodge.” Wake opens his eyes to the doctor peering down at him, telling him that he’s been a patient of his for some time. Wake’s wife died a long time ago, and he couldn’t handle the stress and grief, or so the well-meaning doctor informs him. This section of the game could have contained its most probing character study, but instead devolves into the predictability and repetition that plagues the entire work. Instead of Wake questioning his own sanity, cooped up in a loony bin with all the other fine patrons of the establishment, he never second-guesses himself. Within ten minutes, the doctor’s ruse crumbles against Wake’s underwhelming scrutiny. Once he decides to expose reality for what it is, all it takes is a trip to the main office, where records clearly exonerate him of his “fragile” mental state. Of course, after this information is obtained, enemies begin appearing, and Wake has to shoot his way to freedom. It’s also worth mentioning that once he makes it to the outside grounds, Wake must navigate through a Shining-esque hedge maze in order to escape. No, he doesn’t freeze to death while screaming “Danny!”, but that would have at least been unexpected.

The more contiguous narrative problem goes back to Wake’s declaration that “Why?” is not a necessary component of effective horror. In the case of Alan Wake, its believability hinges on that question being answered. And to a degree, it is. Throughout the course of the game, the moment-to-moment narrative is explained well enough, but the bigger, game-spanning question of “Why?” is almost never even addressed. If the whole game takes place after Wake writes a story, then why are characters and situations he’s yet to encounter present in an unrelated nightmare before he even goes on vacation? Why is only his manuscript capable of changing reality? Why can demons that appear out of nowhere be killed with guns when light is supposed to be their weakness? Why does the evil entity even need Wake when it seems capable enough of destruction on its own? Why can’t Wake just write the happiest ending imaginable at any point during the game? All those questions are perfectly reasonable to ask, but they’re sidestepped in favor of vague premonitions or visions that don’t make much sense, even after the game is over.

Perhaps even more disappointing than the story are the mechanics. This might sound like a snarky question, but it’s an honest one: What the hell has Remedy been doing for 7 years? Their last game, Max Payne 2, released at the tail end of 2003, and they’ve been silent since. I could brush that aside if there was a reason to, but the core game play doesn’t feel like it’s changed much since their previous efforts almost a decade ago. Wake aims a flashlight at enemies, shoots them until they’re dead, and then does it again when necessary. That’s it. There’s really no finesse to speak of, and nothing interesting, evolutionary or innovative has been added to the static formula of most third-person shooters. What that boils down to is the unfortunate fact that I could have played this game 7 years ago and been fine with it. But at this point in the lifespan of the medium, to only require such a rudimentary and rote skill set speaks volumes as to the mindset of the people responsible for implementing it. Enemies never change, and neither do the tactics for dispatching them. If there are too many to handle, just pop a flashbang or use a flare gun to thin the crowd. Always aim for the head, and reload often. Those tips shouldn’t be applicable in the slightest in a self-proclaimed psychological thriller. After all, shooting everything that moves seems pretty physically thrilling to me. In any case, Alan Wake’s game play is a textbook case of wash-rinse-repeat, only in the blandest way possible.

One of the most egregious examples of Alan Wake’s stale mechanics again takes place at “The Lodge.” Once Wake finds the evidence of his still-reigning sanity, he has to get out of the asylum as fast as possible. But first, he must do battle with inanimate objects come to life - a notable Stephen King trope - in order to get outside to safety. Floating couches and barrels might be scary in a movie or book, but when “defeating” them entails the exact same shooting mechanics employed against human enemies, I have to wonder why the game even bothered to include them.

After having valiantly and courageously struck down a possessed Art Deco ball sculpture, Wake heads outside, where the aforementioned hedge maze awaits him. What kind of surprises could be hiding in the bushes? If you guessed “shadow people,” you might have a job opportunity as a Remedy scriptwriter in your near future. Just like every other encounter in the game, Wake is tasked with putting bullets into people while running forward (technically in a zigzag pattern). But what stands out the most in a long line of miscalculations is the decision to turn the psychologist from the beginning of the chapter into just another faceless goon. A potential story-defining character is reduced to acting out enemy behavior whose redundancy knows no bounds. There is a clearing at the end of the hedge maze, and in the middle of it stands the good doctor, patiently waiting around for Wake to show up. Once he does, the doctor reverts back to the supposedly antagonistic cries about work-related situations that have already grown tiresome. Such is the cure-all in a game more able to deal with the illusion of fear, rather than the reality of it.

There are some great environmental effects, such as the trees and wind looking as if they’re being perpetually rewound in a VCR, and gigantic trees crackling and buckling for seemingly no reason, only to fall directly in your path with a deadening thud. But those effects are wasted when the whole game consists of the same few tricks repeated ad nauseum. If having explanatory power is antithetical to the poetry of fear, then predictability should be a cardinal sin of writing horror. Even when certain plot points are explained at the end, the only thing that I came away with was the fact that an even bigger mystery just supplanted a smaller one. Ambiguous endings have their place, and when done well, they can turn befuddlement into a praise-worthy event. Without giving anything away, Alan Wake basically ends with “…and you thought THAT was weird!” As a matter of fact, I did, and I also realized that there have been dozens, if not hundreds, of similar experiences in different media that far outweigh this game’s blind repetition and reluctance to explain anything of importance. If the devil’s in the details, Alan Wake is as angelic as it gets.
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Level 3.

No, that's not the name of the game pictured above. Instead, it's how far I leveled up in Fragile Dreams before I decided to shit-can it from my collection. Why? It's quite simple, actually: the combat really, really sucked. Like, really. "Oh, but if you can muster enough strength to power through the combat parts, the rest of the game is a lot better," some might say to me. Sorry, but I shouldn't have to muster the strength to get through a game. If I'm not convinced I should even be holding the controller, it's a safe bet I shouldn't be. It's a shame, though, because everything besides the gameplay was working for me. The atmosphere was foreboding and desolate; the score hit all the right notes; the story had a lot of potential; and yet I traded it in after only about two hours of game time. Sad day.

OK, so, the combat. Not one aspect of it did anything for me. I started off with a stick, and I hit some dogs over the head with it. Fair enough. But then I hit some floating jellyfish with it. Then I found a bamboo sword and hit some dogs and jellyfish with it. Then my bamboo sword broke, so I switched back to the stick. Then it broke, as well. As it turns out, a broken stick was the last weapon I was able to wield before I gave up, and that doesn't sit right with me. Oh, well, I guess, because maneuvering around borderline-retarded enemy A.I. that have the worst dodging abilities known to man or computer didn't really make me want to find a better weapon. Take the dogs, for example. When you hit them, they automatically jump backwards, no matter where they are. So my main plan of attack was to always angle my swing towards a wall or object in the environment, that way when they jumped back, they didn't actually move. Instead of the dog leaping out of harm's way, it just backwards-dry-humped the wall while I beat it in the face. Not how I would like to go out, but I'm not a post-apocalyptic canine that appears into, and disappears from existence whenever a human being walks past me.

The way weapons break in Fragile Dreams is just about the stupidest thing on the planet. Apparently, there's no formula to follow or weapon HP to keep track of. Shit just breaks sometimes. And I can say from experience that my only two weapons (which sucked anyways) both broke shortly after about an hour of playing. If the developers wanted to force people to use different weapons, hey, I'm all for it. But they can't make it happen by random chance. Theoretically, then, it could break after the first time I used it. There's no strategy or brainpower needed to play along with that scenario; it's called shitty design. And compounding the brain-dead weapon system is the fact that it can be overly-cumbersome to aim and successfully hit enemies sometimes. If I press down on the nunchuk, I would normally expect my character to turn towards the camera. Oh, no. Not in Fragile Dreams. It works similarly to Silent Hill: Origins, only less-so. I had to maneuver the flashlight with the Wii-mote in order to face the enemy I wanted to hit, and it got obnoxious pretty quickly when I was whiffing half of the time, only to get hit for 50 damage from a fucking jellyfish. Why are there floating jellyfish? I don't know. And I didn't mention this before, but why are there person-less pants with blue flames instead of upper torsos laughing at me? I don't know, but whatever.

The main point I want to drive home here is that the first few hours in a game are arguably the most important. And with a game like Fragile Dreams, I was looking forward more to the adventuring aspects than the combat. What I found, however, was that the world made me want to push forward, but the game itself kept holding me back. It's one reason I can't stand most JRPGs, but I thought this one could have been different. Sure, it could have been, but the gameplay is sadly but surely stuck in the same boring and tedious level-grind mentality that plagues pretty much all the games I hate. So, in the end, hate wins out again. This is one giant victory for hate.


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Well, Now I'm Just Creeped Right Out.

I think I just experienced the first real "should I be doing this?" moment in my game playing history (with qualifiers, if asked). So I'm playing Heavy Rain, and I take control of Madison Paige for the first time. She wakes up in the middle of the night, apparently after falling asleep on the couch. The t.v. is still on, which I turn off. I have her look at her watch, and it's almost 3am. She seems frustrated at the late hour, so I figure she could use some freshening up. I start walking around the apartment looking for the bathroom, and I find it soon enough. But once I enter it, my mood changes from curious to thoroughly disturbed. I've never played anything like this before, and that includes Indigo Prophecy or any other narrative-driven game.

Once inside the bathroom, I head straight for the sink. I turn it on, and she splashes water on her face. Mission accomplished so far.

I want to quickly digress to make a side point. The Uncanny Valley is a very real thing, and it's no more evident than with Heavy Rain. Everything looks so authentic and genuinely impressive that it's the little things that stand out. For example, as Madison goes to the sink to splash water on her face, she turns the faucet on and water comes out. So far so good, but when she cups her hands and motions toward her face, the water disappears. Nothing actually splashes her, and her hands don't make contact with her face. Things like that are instantly noticeable when everything else is so incredibly detailed. I'd venture to say this could be the best-looking game I've ever played as far as believable, real-world environments and characters go, but it's evident that true photo-realism is still a little ways off. However, the strides that have been made toward that goal are immense, and such efforts will only get better with time.

Anyways, back to the reason for this entry: me being creeped out. After splashing the water on Madison's face, I look around the bathroom, and move her towards the toilet. I've had two other characters use the bathroom so far, so why not her? Well, that was the first wrong move. As she was sitting down on the toilet, the camera switched angles multiple times, and some of them were wide shots of her sitting. It felt invasive and weird to watch her, and I wished I had skipped that action almost immediately. But once that was over, I had her walk around the other side of the bathroom near the shower. She has a big-ass shower, by the way. Three nozzles in a row, even. So I decide to have her take a shower, and that's when I started really feeling like I was doing something inappropriate and sleazy. For starters, there are two contextual actions: moving the analog stick up, or down. When moved up, Madison takes her shirt off. When moved down, she takes her underwear off. Then she immediately walks into the shower and turns it on. There are gratuitous close-up shots of her breasts and ass, and multiple camera angles from which the show continues. It goes on for what seems like forever, and once she's finished, I had to manually put her clothes back on again. I wasn't sure at first the reason I felt so uneasy about this. After all, I've seen hundreds of movies with this exact same scene before, and I'm not sexually repressed, so what's the big deal?

The big deal is agency. I had to take her clothes off and get her to take a shower, and I sat there and watched while she did it. It felt like a huge, huge invasion of privacy, and also manipulative. It was exactly like all those movie scenes I've watched, but with one big difference. I actually felt like I was preying on her in some strange way; like she just didn't know I was watching her every move. This brings up a very unique situation for me, and it's one that I wish more games were capable of handling. Heavy Rain doesn't feel anything like the countless fantasy or role-playing games I've played in the past. All those games had stories and dramatic character arcs, but none of them ever made me feel like I was watching and interacting with someone else's life. Heavy Rain does that for each character, and with Madison Paige, for the first time in a game I felt like I shouldn't be doing what I was doing. If she knew about it, she would be horrified.

There were other reasons for my unsettled nerves, though. As I said, it was almost 3am, and all the lights in her apartment were either off or very dim, and her waking up the way she did made me apprehensive about....something. Also, I tried putting some clothes on her besides basically a bra and panties, but I couldn't. I was forced to have her walk around a disturbing environment in what I deemed a vulnerable state, and I wasn't happy about it. Now, bear in mind that the opening scene of the game entails a man waking up and taking a shower (if you so choose, which I did). I felt none of the emotions I was experiencing with Madison, and for good reason. The character in the beginning of the game seems at peace with himself and his surroundings. Everything is nice and bright, almost idyllic. There's a beautiful back yard that's accessed by an awesome balcony, and I was able to have him lazily walk out and stare out at the nice, sunny morning. When I had him take a shower, there was nudity, but it was relatively quick and it just felt natural. He's in the shower, so he's naked. No big deal. But as I watched Madison take hers, the shots lingered, and I also had much more agency with her character. Couple that with the uneasiness of the surroundings and it's easy to understand the difference between the two scenes.

All these feelings came about before Madison started seeing things. As I sat her down to flip through a magazine, she suddenly looked up and became startled. Did something move? I wasn't sure, but I decided to have her walk around a bit. Once she made it to the other side of the apartment, I turned her around, and the fridge was open. I had literally just closed it, so I immediately wanted to get the hell out of the apartment. I tried to put some clothes on her but there was no option for it. Again, the vulnerable state of a woman by herself when something seems off started freaking me out. There wasn't anything really happening at this point; it was all just in my head. And to those who would say that I shouldn't be feeling like that because a woman can take care of herself, give me a fucking break. There are factual differences between men and women, and there are times when a woman is more vulnerable than a man would be in the same situation. This was one of those situations, and I didn't like it. Anyways, like I said, I've never played a game that presented me with something like this before, and I was really conflicted over how the overall scene made me feel. It was almost like I was the person stalking her, while at the same time acting on her behalf. I'm pretty sure the confusion was on purpose, and it definitely set the desired mood for what was to follow.

And this, my friends, is the nearly untapped potential of gaming. Agency can elicit all types of emotions, but up 'til now it's only given me a very narrow spectrum of samples to choose from. Heavy Rain looks to be significantly broadening the scope of what a game can be, despite some shortcomings I've noticed with certain characters. The voice-acting is really hit-or-miss, depending on who's talking. But when it's good, it's damn good. My hope, though, is for it to continue poking around inside my head, looking for different responses than I'm used to giving to a video game. And even if it can't sustain itself for the duration, moments like tonight will stay with me for a long, long time.

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Deeper, Still.

As I played through some four more hours of Bioshock 2, I continued to be in awe of the world Irrational Games (2K Boston) created. I've never played System Shock or System Shock 2, but man, would I love to. The price for System Shock 2 on Amazon is unfortunate, to say the least, so it looks like I won't be playing it in the foreseeable future. Nevertheless, that game's so-called spiritual successor is keeping me plenty busy in the mean time.

Tonight I went through Pauper's Drop. It's where, according to Augustus Sinclair, at least, the dregs of society hang their weary heads. The place is directly under the Atlantic Express line, and everything about it is fittingly shanty'd up. Pauper's Drop is also where the game starts to feel like it's opening up for me to do things the way I want to do them. Bioshock 2 is structured differently than the first game, because once you've left certain areas of Rapture, you can't go back. The game even gives you a warning that if you continue past point X, it's closed to you from then on. The great thing about this new area is that it's a lot bigger than previous areas, and the game's mechanics are starting to gel together to form the bigger gameplay picture.

For one, there is more than one Little Sister in this area, which means twice the amount of protection segments. Sure, they're absolutely, transparently artificial, but it's still fun to set up a fire zone and wait for the horde of splicers to come happily running to their fiery doom. The one thing that bothers me, though, is that other Little Sisters can walk around willy-nilly, jabbing syringes into whatever the hell they feel like without getting so much as a fart in their general direction. Randomly, firefights will erupt between a Big Daddy and some dude with a bandage on his head, but it's nothing near the all-out chaos that occurs when I decide to harvest some Adam. Whatever, I have cyclone traps now, so they can suck it. Besides the added mass splicers-as-lemmings carnage, the research camera becomes available part-way through the area. Just like in the original game, the camera adds a bit of depth to multiple gameplay aspects. Not only is it more fun to take snapshots of enemies before beating them to death, but taking good pictures gives you bonuses such as tonics and added damage against certain enemies. The combat feels like it has more than one dimension to it now, as it should. I maxed out all research tracks in Bioshock, and I imagine I'll do the same again. I wonder, though, if any part of Bioshock 2 will be able to best Sander Coen's game of take-pictures-of-corpses-so-I-can-get-off-on-it, while at the same time wondering if the ash-covered dead people are going to eat your face off. That shit was fucked up.

I also appreciate the scaled-down approach to such a large game world. In Bioshock, there was a lot of running around between areas with tons of real estate. This time around, the world feels just as big, but it's sliced into smaller chunks that the player has to tackle one at a time before advancing. It's nice this way, because it cuts back on the risk of backtracking too much or going in circles trying to find that one door or thing you missed. The map seems to be a little more helpful, as well, but that could just be because there's less square footage involved. Either way, the game feels a little more focused and intent on making sure the player has just enough space to work with. I've heard the game described as more linear, but that's a bunch of bullshit. You're still dropped into a wide-open arena full of things to do, and the ways and means of accomplishing specific goals are totally up to you. I, for one, feel like I have total control over the way I'm playing.

Very briefly, I feel the need to mention something I brought up in my previous Bioshock 2 post. I mentioned the moral "decision" regarding the Little Sisters, and how the choice is nothing more than the simplest of dilemmas, especially when stacked up to what the rest of the story has to offer. I experienced the same sort of thing tonight in Pauper's Drop. There's a character in the game whom you can either kill or let live. It's presented as some big choice for you to mull over, but the whole kill-or-spare version of morality is getting a little stale to me. Why does it have to be such a drastic choice? Why can't the game be filled with smaller, more subtle choices that add up to something in the end? Mass Effect sort of goes down that route, but I also have problems with Bioware's system. All in all, I've yet to see a game fully realize a "moral compass" within the constraints of a narrative. I'm sure it'll happen one day, and I'll blog my happy little ass off about it.

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A look back at: Heavy Rain.

Shortly after finishing Heavy Rain, I thought to myself: Did I just finish 2010's game of the year? It's barely March, and already we have been blessed as gamers with the likes of Mass Effect 2, Bioshock 2, Darksiders, and more. But, as I sat there on my couch watching the credits, I couldn't help but think: "What's going to beat Heavy Rain?"

Moreover, is Heavy Rain even a game? Well I guess that depends on your definition of "game". If to you, a game is you controlling a character on screen and running around environments, then yeah, Heavy Rain is a game. The difference here is that, instead of moving level to level taking out bad guys, then encountering a boss, you are really just interacting with scenes.

And these "scenes" are what set Heavy Rain apart. By presenting the gamer with scripted event after event and letting you make decisions that impact each character, Quantic Dream grips you the way that a great movie would. Fully invested in these characters, each with his/her own demons, you care that much more about them. Couple that, with a good story, and you have a great piece of entertainment.

So that brings us to the presentation. Heavy Rain is a great looking game, not the best, but great. What really helps the presentation here is how everything flows together to make a cohesive experience. The camera angles are well done, often adding to the drama. The biggest part of all this is the "Quick Time Events" that make up a major part of the gameplay. With Quantic Dream's last game, Indigo Prophecy, the QTEs were always right in the middle of the screen, more times than not punishing you for paying attention to the scene rather than the button prompt. In Heavy Rain, they are used to draw your attention to the action by putting the QTE in the middle of the action. This really does go a long way to drawing the player into the scene.

Will Heavy Rain be game of the year this year? Way to early to tell. But what I can tell you is that I am ready for more of this "Interactive Drama".

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Journey to the Surface.

Sequels can be funny things. Sometimes they vastly improve upon their predecessors, and other times they take a step backwards. Mostly, however, they're a combination of the two. Take Bioshock 2, for instance. There are immediate and obvious improvements to the game - most of which are mechanical - and they go a long way in allowing me to continue to enjoy my journey into the depths of Rapture. But what is the cost of these rote additions to the nuts-and-bolts of the game? I don't mean to suggest that one aspect of a game has to suffer in order to improve upon another; I'm simply wondering where the priorities were for the folks at 2K Marin while they were developing Bioshock 2.

Don't worry, I'm enjoying the game quite a bit so far, but there are certainly flaws I feel the need to point out. For starters, being a Big Daddy should come with immediate advantages. It certainly does when you're dealing with regular ol' splicers, but when confronted with taking down another Big Daddy, the encounter exposes what's really going on with the gameplay. Visually, you look and feel like a lumbering behemoth that could wreak havoc at will. In practice, you're exactly the same as you were in the first game, only with a different character skin. You'd think that being inside an enormous diving suit would afford you some luxuries in the defense department, but when a crazy lady with a pipe hits you for a quarter of your health in 3 seconds, all pretenses of power are dropped. But my problem isn't really with normal enemies. I noticed this disconnect mostly when I encountered my first Big Daddy/Little Sister combo. When I was about to engage him, I thought to myself, "Alright, Big Daddy on Big Daddy, dueling drill arm action. May the best man win." Once it was over, I was painfully aware there was only one Big Daddy during the fight, and it wasn't me. Why is it that when I swing my gigantic drill with thunderous force against the armor of the Big Daddy, he seems to shrug it off and in one fluid motion knock me half-way across the room, taking half of my health with it? I thought we would be evenly matched as far as brute force goes, but I was sorely mistaken. I'm not complaining about actual difficulty, mind you. I'm noticing the difference between what the game is telling me I'm capable of doing, and what it's actually allowing me to do.

I completely understand that if I were able to just obliterate everything in my path that the game would be a simple matter of pressing the "kill things" button while walking forward. Perhaps, then, the basic concept should have been completely different. Maybe they should have done what I've been wishing for since finishing the first Bioshock: a full-on prequel. I want nothing more than to be able to walk through Rapture at the height of its power and opulence; to be a witness to the unfolding madness and chaos as Ryan and Fontaine battled for control of an ultimately failed societal experiment. I think it's a great idea to take the role of one of Fontaine's lackeys, going about his dirty work trying to throw every wrench possible into Ryan's works. At some point, maybe your character would start to see things differently and a conflict would arise. I haven't put much thought into it beyond that, but I'd call it a pretty good starting point. Anyways, my whole point is that being a Big Daddy for the entire game might not have been the wisest of design choices. The game plays just like the original, which I'm fine with, but it forces me to ask why I can't take (and dole out) the same amount of punishment every other random Big Daddy is able to. I'm willing to forgive this disconnect and call it what it is: a purely cosmetic change. Granted, story-wise it's a genuine difference. But as far as the gameplay is concerned, you walk with a metal clang in your step and grunt when you fall.

Something else that really bothers me is gathering Adam with the Little Sisters. I haven't gone back and checked, but I'm pretty sure Adam can be harvested from any corpse. As long as they're spliced up, they should do fine, right? And if that's the case, then why can't I get it from, oh, I don't know, the hundreds of people I'll have killed before I'm through? Instead, the game only gives me Adam from specific corpses that are labeled as "Adam corpses". I can guess the reason, which is mechanical contrivance. But it makes absolutely no sense to me, and gives me more cause for alarm. A secondary (and far less stupid) bafflement is the sort of mist that acts as an ethereal bread crumb when trying to find the next Adam corpse. What the hell is up with that? I don't remember there being any supernatural means for Adam extraction up to this point. In fact, if you remember when you get your first plasmid in the original game, a Little Sister walks up to you thinking you're dead. When she gets close enough, she realizes you're still alive and says something like "he's not an angel yet." So, she was fooled by seeing you lying on the ground, which means she wasn't being led by some weird fog trail that comes out of nowhere. No, it's another gameplay mechanic that has no weight or meaning to it, and I wish it wasn't there.

One thing I'm glad is available is the ability to change the difficulty setting at any time. I started the game on hard, but after a couple of hours I realized I wasn't having that much fun. There are certain games I'll only play on the hardest difficulty possible, and they mainly consist of FPS or shooters. If you want to count Bioshock as a "shooter", then go right ahead, but the reason I play it is wholly different than why I play most other FPS. I'm not exploring Rapture looking for the hardest twitch challenge I can get, and I don't want my time to be filled with frustration and repetition from dying. What I do want is to feel immersed in the environment and delve deeper into the story behind the fall of Rapture. If I need to scratch the shooting-dudes-in-the-face itch, I'll pop in Call of Duty or any number of other games. But I made this realization after I had my first Little Sister protection encounter. Up to that point, I was pretty much getting devastated by every single splicer I had fought, but I was soldiering on. But when I had to fight like five of them at once, and then five more after that, it clicked in my head that this isn't why I'm playing. Bioshock isn't the most technically proficient FPS out there (I never claimed it to be), and the harder difficulty really highlights this fact. It actually seems quite a bit harder than the previous game's hard difficulty. So, yea, I'm playing on easy now, and I couldn't be happier. I never thought I'd say that about a game, but when the story is more important than the challenge, it makes a lot of sense. One could even say it's a testament to the game that the story is good enough to put the combat on a lower tier, and I really think that's the case here. Either way, for me, easy is the way to go.

My last gripe isn't really a gripe, and it pertains to both games in the series. The issue of morality and harvesting/saving the Little Sisters was never that big of a deal to me. Honestly, it's such a binary decision that morality doesn't really factor into it. The moral choices have already been made in Rapture, and all you can do is look at the outcome. Of course, no one would want to kill a child, but I think the way it's presented is superficial when compared to the rest of the game, and limited agency to such a degree defeats the point. If the developers really wanted the question of harvesting or saving to be a moral one, there should be no tangible benefit to either decision, and no pretense of there being one. The way it's currently set up, it just boils down to a numbers game. Most people will approach the situation by wondering which decision will yield more Adam instead of pondering a mercy killing versus attempted salvation. Giving such a choice a deliberate numerical value takes away from the emotional impact that should occur within the player. But, like I said, I find that emotional impact elsewhere in the game, so it's a minor fault that I'm more than willing to move past. The rest of the world and the people in it are so detailed and thought-provoking that I don't really need this specific mechanic to carry all the weight. I'm just sayin'.

An aspect of the sequel I did move past, or rather re-thought my perspective on, is the way you talk to and interact with Sinclair. Last night I played through the Atlantic Express section, and when I saw Sinclair for the first time, I was a little annoyed. I had thought that his character was supposed to be Bioshock 2's Atlus, and it felt forced. In combination with that, the only time other characters interact with you (excluding enemies) is behind an artificial impasse. There's always something blocking you from fully seeing them, and sometimes even your movement is restricted. For some reason, that really bothered me when I saw Sinclair. I felt like the developers wanted to keep the feel of the first game, but they were trying too hard. I even went to bed thinking about it, but the more I thought about it, the more I saw the presentation of all the characters differently. As I mentioned in the paragraph above, the fate of Rapture was basically sealed a long time ago, and as I'm going through the different areas, I feel like I'm seeing the ghosts or echoes of things that were. In a sense, I get the same feeling from characters like Sinclair, and even Tenenbaum. By effectively cutting you off from most visual contact, the game subtly turns living, breathing people into memories. If you think about it, their most common means of communicating with you is strikingly similar to the audio logs strewn about the environments. And when you actually get to see them, it's only for a fleeting moment from a distance. So as the game presents them, I know they're still in Rapture, but I feel like I'm alone.

The story itself is still up in the air. I like the way the communal, "we are all one" societal structure is shown as a cult-ish religion. At first, I was a little put off by the directness in Sofia Lamb's approach. She's so much the polar opposite of Andrew Ryan that it almost felt like too much. But that's the thing: she's so entrenched in her beliefs that she's consumed by them. Her every waking moment - much like Andrew Ryan's before I clubbed him in the face with a wrench - is spent propagating her point of view. So it makes sense for her to speak in platitudes now and again, and to seem like a personification of an idea. That's exactly what she is, and Rapture is, yet again, the outcome of extreme idealism.

Of particular note so far is the Journey to the Surface section of Rapture. It's a theme park built by Ryan to indoctrinate children against the desire to go to the surface. It's structured like a Pirates of the Caribbean-esque experience, with animatronic scientists, artists and families being used to further his brain-washing techniques. The sets are pretty damn great, because they all have the same basic message: everyone on the surface is trying to do their own thing, but The Man keeps getting them down. To illustrate this point, it shows people going about their business, then a gigantic hand comes down from the sky to stop them in their tracks. The amusing part is how every single display does the same exact thing. Andrew Ryan was not one for subtlety, after all. But this section of Rapture was, by far, the most interesting in my journey and I can only imagine where it's going to lead me in the coming days.

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Immersion Factor OVER 9000?!?!?

It's not often a game pulls me in so completely. So completely, in fact, that I'm going to declare Silent Hill: Shattered Memories one of the most immersive games I've ever played. Every aspect is designed to make the player feel like they are part of the world, and it's working on me hook, line and sinker.

I'm not going to go into all the details just yet; I'll save that for when I've finished the game. Instead, I want to focus on a single mechanic: Harry's cell phone. When you hit the minus button on the Wiimote, Harry will take out his phone and hold it up to the screen. There are 9 menu items to pick from, including saving your game, dialing a number of your choice, listening to/reading messages, and using the phone's camera. There are phone numbers written all over the town, and if you dial one of them, you'll get some kind of an answer. It may just be an answering machine, but an answer nonetheless. And the genius part comes in once you hit "call". Not content to simply let Harry hold the phone up to his ear in the game, the developers decided to have the player do the same. The audio from the phone comes in through the Wiimote speaker, and let me tell you, it only adds about 985, 543% to feeling like you're really in Silent Hill. I almost said "hello" the first time I answered a call, and I did one of those things where you look at your phone, put it back to your ear, look at it again, put it back to your ear, etc. It's so wondrously simple an idea, yet its effect is monumental.

As I said, you can also choose to whip out the built-in camera. Doing so will cause Harry to hold it sideways, and you can take a picture of any and everything you want to. And just like talking on the phone, there's a little extra bit of immersion added to the camera. The phone's screen actually has the distortion and lag that real camera phones have, and walking around with it in the middle of your field of view makes everything seem even more disturbing. It's another small, genius move that puts a stupid grin on my face. Of course, there is an actual use for the camera besides taking random pictures of the game world. At times, you'll be prompted in some fashion to take out the camera. When you take a picture of a certain area, you'll get a voicemail or text sent to you from different people. It hasn't happened to me a lot yet, so I don't know the full extent of this part of the gameplay. Regardless, it's yet another use of the engrossing phone mechanic.

Even only a couple hours in, I already have so much more I want to talk about, but I'll hold my tongue until (probably) this weekend when I finish the game. I've heard it's relatively short, but I think I'm done measuring a game's worth in hours. The experience is what I'm after, not a mathematical division of hours played and dollars paid. So, yea. Silent Hill: Shattered Memories. Great stuff.

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The Wrong Kind of Challenge: Why Demon’s Souls Represents Rudimentary Game Design

Based on the title of this article, it may be assumed by those reading that I would take the stance that Demon’s Souls is not a game worth playing. The reality is quite the contrary. More than anything else, Demon’s Souls is a game that ultimately challenges players to examine the notion of game difficulty, and asks us to consider several questions regarding the relationship between game design and game difficulty: What aspects of a game make it difficult? What is the difference between challenging and difficult? Is there a difference?

The answers to these questions, particularly if you agree that there is a difference, all eventually lead us to the ultimate consideration that Demon’s Souls invites gamers to consider:

How difficult is it to make a difficult game?

The answer that Demon’s Souls relates to that question is one that could not be understood without the existence of, and comparison to, another game of a different genre: Ninja Gaiden. With both games in mind, the answer becomes quite simple.

It is not difficult to make a difficult game, but it is challenging to make a challenging game.

Everyone agrees that this is a hard game...

In the case of the two games above, Demon’s Souls would be difficult; Ninja Gaiden would be challenging.

I realize that based on the overwhelmingly positive reviews for Demon’s Souls, my statement may get under the skin of the game’s fan base. However, it is important to note that nowhere have I stated that Demon’s Souls is a bad game. I have simply stated that it is much easier to make a game like Demon’s Souls than a game like Ninja Gaiden.

Think about it. Reconsider the questions I posed above. How hard is it to make a game difficult, and what tools do game designers have at their disposal to make this happen?

What is actually being asked with these questions is how easy is it for game designers to kill you in a game?

Very easy. At every step through every part of a game, the designer plays God. Their power is limitless, and what becomes possible and impossible in the game world is entirely in the designer’s control. The player, on the other hand, is the guinea pig. While some aspect of player choice may be perceived by the player, the reality is that those choices have already been predetermined by the designer.

Therefore, any possibility of player death within a game is entirely under the designer’s control, and making a game difficult simply means the designer makes it easier and more frequently possible to die. This accomplishment is rather easy, and the choices the designer has to make this happen is varied: Increase the damage dealt by the enemy. Decrease the player’s damage dealt to enemies. Make more enemies. Make more traps. Decrease the amount of checkpoints between saves. Take away checkpoints. Take away saves. Decrease the amount of healing items. Decrease health.

This list could go on even longer, but the general principle will always revolve around one central concept: the manipulation of numbers. In each of the examples given, the designer is able to increase or decrease a game’s difficulty simply by manipulating a set of numbers.

In the case of Demon’s Souls, and with many games of the early consoles, this tool is the backbone of the game’s concept and design, and in most cases, the system is praised for its risk/reward factor. While the sense of accomplishment may exist from completing such a game, the reality is that not much thought or skill is needed to create a game with this type of difficulty. In theory, any designer could create the most difficult game ever made simply by setting the numbers against the player unreasonably high, and dropping the numbers associated with the player unreasonably low. As a result, the player would deal little damage, but take a lot; the player would have very little health to fight with, but have to deal with fighting enemies who could absorb a lot of damage.

I’m certain that this game would be very hard to beat. I’m also certain that this game would get praised for how punishing it was.

With Demon’s Souls, this results in only one real tool that the player must utilize to complete the game: memory. The player must memorize where the enemies are, and slowly and progressively take them out one by one. This is rudimentary game design.

However, the days of rudimentary difficulty in game design have long passed, and superior forms of player manipulation have surfaced that favor challenge and complexity over punishing difficulty.

Examine the aspects that make Ninja Gaiden challenging and you notice that none of the design principles have anything to do with memory of enemy locations, excessive punishment of the player with a lack of checkpoints, or overwhelming damage of enemies. Yet nobody disagrees that Ninja Gaiden is one of the most challenging games ever made.

... but this game is actually challenging.

The reason why Ninja Gaiden achieves that dichotomy is that the game designer gives the player more tools than simple memory: skill and variety. In order to be successful, the player has many methods for taking out the enemies, and survival has nothing to do with memory, and everything to do with reflex, reaction time, and dynamic strategies of using the wide array of moves and combos available to the player.

Simply put, the game favors complexity as the catalyst for challenge, not number manipulation. As a result, Ninja Gaiden is only as challenging as the player’s lack of skills and reflexes. No battle will ever play out the same, even when the same battle is fought several times after death, because the game does not allow memory to become a factor.

Moreover, when the player dies, the game does not elongate itself by placing the player at the beginning of the level, instead using checkpoints to encourage the player to experiment with new techniques without worrying about unreasonable risk.

It is no secret that gameplay is unrealistic to the way the real world works. No matter how difficult a game is, it never truly reflects the impossible realities of the scenarios that we as gamers play out in our games. It will never be realistic to assume that any one, ordinary soldier could slaughter hundreds of equally skilled soldiers. Games will always favor the player (the protagonist), much in the same way that movies do. Otherwise they wouldn’t be very fun.

But as long as we strive to make the notion of game completion an actual accomplishment, the decision on whether or not a game should be difficult or challenging must be addressed.

Should game difficulty be designed with challenging complexity in mind, and not simple difficulty? Should game design favor player skill and dynamic gameplay over player memory and numbers manipulation?

We can thank Demon’s Souls for making that a question to ask.

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Do You Like to Read?

If so, there's a very long, but very worthwhile article at Kotaku by Tim Rogers. I couldn't begin to describe everything he talks about, but he starts off with guns and zombies and works his way through Uncharted and Tomb Raider. I guess I did begin to describe it. Anyways, if you can read and you like games, go read this article about games. I know I've told you jack shit about it, but whatever, you know I know what I'm talking about.

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Killzone 2's Controls Are Fixed!!!!!

Yea, this is old news. I just thought I'd share this bit of information for those who didn't know. I knew about it since the patch went live, but I was waiting for the opportunity to pick it up again cheap used. I already bought it once, so I'll be damned if I'm going to give Guerrilla my money TWICE. Anyways, the controls are totally fixed now, and I'm having a fucking blast with the game. I'm not done with it yet, and I'm not going to review it since we already have an ass-load of Killzone 2 shit up on the blog. I'll only say that my happiness level has increased immensely with this much-needed fix, and now I'm definitely going to finish the game. Kudos do Guerrilla for not being total douches and owning up to the fact that they fucked up. That's something I can't say for every company. Read more...

Rockstar has a few things to learn about "their" genre.

Because Saints Row 2 is, in every important way, vastly superior to GTA 4. Let me first admit that I was on the anti-Saints Row bandwagon. I never played the original, and from a few early screenshots, I thought the sequel looked like shit. This just goes to show you that a well-informed opinion can't come from stuff like that. So, at the behest of a friend, I picked up Saints Row 2, and I can now say that I enjoyed it so much more than Niko Belic's disjointed and confused adventure.

Since there are so many things this game does better, I've decided to just make a list of everything, in no particular order, and I'll elaborate on a few points later.

• Features a garage where you can store any car you want, and here's the sticker: you can dump the cars from your garage anywhere in the world, and they'll always be available for you to take out again from any owned garage in the game.
• Missions have a lot more variety. Sure, a lot of them just involve going somewhere and shooting someone, but most of the time, the story and situations the game puts you in make them far more interesting.
• Once you complete certain activities, infinite ammo is unlocked for specific sets of guns. This makes everything a lot more fun, and the game doesn't take itself seriously enough to warrant any gripes about it ruining the realism or any such nonsense.
• The entire game - missions, activities, diversions, everything - can be played co-op. Obvious plus. Roughly half of my overall playtime was with a friend.
• Vehicles are fully customizable. You can upgrade them with nitrous, improved tires and overall durability, etc. It makes the garage feature that much more awesome when you know you have a pimped-out, bad ass ride waiting for you wherever you want it.
• Almost everything you accomplish in the game has a tangible gameplay reward attached to it. Finishing certain activities, for example, will give you the ability to have more homies ride with you while on missions, or increase your health or stamina. Basically, you're working towards a goal even when you're lighting people on fire with a friend.
• Fully customizable avatar. Once again, the game lets you decide how you want your game to look. Your character can be male or female, and the range of options available for changing their appearance is pretty great. If you want to have a 19-year-old skinny chick that sounds like a 50-year-old guy working in a mine, go right ahead.
• The story is flat-out better and more entertaining. I'll go into more detail below.
• You can actually, for the most part, accomplish missions and objectives the way you want to. One big problem I had with GTA 4 was the fact that Rockstar had a specific vision for how a lot of the missions played out, and if you deviated from the way they wanted them to, it was game over. In Saints Row 2, if you want to jack someone's car to chase the guys on motorcycles that you're after, you're free to do so. You don't have to take the vehicle they provide you with.
  
• Humor. it ties in with the story, which again, I'll go into further down. But it's a lot funnier than you'd think.
• Cribs. For whatever reason, GTA 4 didn't want to let you feel like you owned the city. Saints Row 2 does. There are about a dozen houses for you to buy, and you can - yet again - upgrade them and pimp them out.
• You can replay any story-related mission in the game as many times as you want. Durh, that's awesome. The same goes for all the activities as well.
• One of the perks of co-op is that if you die, your friend has 15 seconds (on hardcore difficulty) to revive you. Extremely welcome, especially when you have a five-star wanted level.
• You can carry way more weapons on your person at all times, including an SMG, rocket launcher, shotgun, dual pistols, samurai sword and satchel charges.

All of those examples are off the top of my head, so there's probably other stuff that I forgot to mention. Of course, the game isn't perfect, and Rockstar probably has more money and staff to polish their games a bit more than Volition does. Graphically, GTA 4 is superior, but it really doesn't matter. Saints Row 2 looks just fine. On the other hand, the game can be a little buggy at times, and clipping is a common occurence. But again, it doesn't hamper the fun in any meaningful way.

That's the thing about this game - I had way more fun with it than I ever thought I would. Even before I played Saints Row 2, I was disappointed with GTA 4 in a lot of big ways. After playing it, my disappointments with GTA 4 stand out even more, in stark contrast to what Volition has accomplished. I think sometimes Rockstar is more concerned with being "mature" and controversial than they are with making a cohesive story. With GTA 4, they set out to tell a tale of sin and redemption, but ended up with a pile of shit. Niko's motivations were explained as being forced into violence by outside forces, when all he wants is to lead a better life. Fair enough. But his actions showed a totally different person. He doesn't want to kill people anymore, yet if you were to flash a twenty in his direction, he'd probably shoot everyone in the room and snatch it from your cold, lifeless hand. The whole thing doesn't make a damn bit of sense in that regard, and I just got turned off about half-way through the game. Not to mention the fact that you commit countless random acts of violence and murder while you're driving around aimlessly, but that's more of an inherent problem with trying to tell any kind of realistic story when the player is allowed to do whatever they want.

Saints Row 2 isn't trying to tell a realistic story at all. It's instantly recognized as ridiculous and over-the-top, and that's exactly what I liked about it. In a game where I can use rocket launchers to blow up helicopters while someone is driving me around, I expect to see the same shit happen in the cutscenes, and it delivers just that. A lot of crazy shit happens in the story, in fact, and I found myself laughing out loud at the insane stunts the main character pulls off. Speaking of cutscenes, they were suprisingly well-directed. A lot of them had a great kind of movie quality to them, and it was nice to see Volition take the time to make such a non-serious story at least look awesome. Overall, the story is really just the standard get out of jail, start up your gang again kind of thing, but it works because there are no pretenses of being gritty or serious. Make no mistake, there are a lot of fucked up things that happen, and I would say it's on the same level of hardcore that GTA 4 was on, but the big difference is the non-contradictory way it all played out.

Look, if you were left wanting after you finished GTA 4, then this is a no-brainer. Get this game, you'll love it. If you can get someone else to play it with you - holy shit - the satisfaction is increased by a factor of about a billion. Rockstar should look at this game and weep in their feathery-soft pillows.


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The New Direction of Tomb Raider

I say "new direction" loosely, because the two points I'm about to bring up aren't necessarily how the franchise is going to move forward. Rather, it's how I view the current and previous DLC offerings Eidos has released for Tomb Raider: Underworld.

Beneath the Ashes was the first bit of DLC, and it was basically a level from the game, in both scope and gameplay. If you've played any of the recent Tomb Raider games, then you'll know what to expect. It didn't really bring anything new to the table, but I enjoyed it a lot, and even played through it a few times. Now this is where Lara's Shadow comes in.

Lara's Shadow is the latest release, and wow - it totally changes the dynamics of Tomb Raider. For once, I actually enjoyed the combat. So far, combat has been the one glaring weak point in the revamped series, since all it requires is circle strafing and holding down the right trigger. Not so in Lara's Shadow. Since you're playing as Lara's doppelganger, her abilities are quite a significant upgrade in every sense. She has special moves that stagger even the biggest enemies Underworld pitted against you, and firing weapons receives a much needed boost. These abilities are: a super punch capable of breaking enemies into pieces, a jump kick that serves to knock down any enemies in its range, and a slow-motion weapon firing mode that lets you pump about three times more bullets into your target than normal. All these are very, very welcome, and fun to play around with. Add to all of this the super-human platforming, and it almost feels like a totally different game.

Now, on to my two points:

1) I think DLC like these are totally the way to go from now on. Keep releasing DLC with similar-sized content, and give the next full Lara game at least three years of development. In the meantime, if Eidos were to release these episodes about four times a year (roughly every three months), people like me could get my Tomb Raider fix, while still knowing a brand-new adventure was in the works.

2) Experiment more with new gameplay. Lara's Shadow is an excellent first step, and by breathing new life into an already solid formula, Eidos has piqued my interest even moreso than it already was (it was really, really high).

These are the two things I hope Eidos focuses on, instead of releasing a better-looking game that largely does the same thing the last two did. Sure, there were improvements made in Underworld, and yes, I thought the game was awesome. But now, after getting a glimpse of what could happen, I simply can't see them doing the same old shit again and again. If they do, I'll probably still enjoy the game, but the obviousness of a missed opportunity won't be far back in my mind. Another thing I should mention is the pricing. At least for the first two DLC installments, the price tag is $10.00. I think cutting that in half would be about right, but at the same time, I didn't have any reservations getting either one. Lara's Shadow, in particular, gave me my money's worth. If they want to keep the current price, Eidos should look at extending the levels by about a third. Still, what's there is good enough, and I'm not really complaining. Here's to hoping Eidos is reading this and appreciates my analysis enough to hire me as a consultant.


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The Replayability of Resident Evil 5

I think the review we have up for the game sums it up pretty nicely, but I would like to briefly expand on the controls. If RE4 retooled the formula, RE5 perfected it. The game gives you the ability to strafe while walking around, and honestly, that's all it needed. I don't ever feel the need to move and shoot - the game is built on the fact that you can't - and if I could, it would make it far too easy. As it stands, though, the combat is intensely gratifying, and there's no mistaking it for any other game. The controls, as they are now, are a defining aspect of the series, take it or leave it. If you leave it, it sucks to be you.

So let's move on to what I really want to talk about: the replayability of RE5, and why, after about 50 hours in, I'm still planning on playing all weekend long.

If you finish the game on Veteran difficulty, you'll unlock Professional mode. Let me tell you, it's aptly fucking named. Pretty much everything is a one-hit death for you, and at one point early on, I was freaking out because I was being killed by a chicken. If that's not a measure of difficulty, I don't know what is. Also, enemies take a LOT more damage, and good luck finding any ammo. You'll find a few rounds for the handgun, but that's about it. It seems like Professional is built to be ran through with infinite ammo, or a lot of punching and slitting of throats. It's a great ramp-up, but it probably won't be the difficulty I play most often. Veteran is just right, so if you play a ton of shooters, that'll be the way to go on your first play-through.

I say first, because I've completed it on Amateur, Normal, Veteran and Professional, and I'm still playing through various difficulties for specific reasons. The higher the difficulty, generally the more money you'll collect, and you'll also get more exchange points at the end of each chapter. The exchange points are used to buy extras once you've finished the game, and they range from novel items like figurines to essentials like infinite ammo for every gun in the game. Of course, you have to buy infinite ammo for each gun separately, and the cost ranges from 10,000 to 15,000 per gun. I have almost every gun, and I'm still working on buying the infinite ammo for all of them. Currently, I have it unlocked for the M92F, H&K P8, AK-74, Ithaca M37, M3, H&K PSG-1 and S&W M29. I have basically every situation covered, from up-close and personal douches with stun rods, to attackers shooting flaming explosives from 30 yards away.

And that's the joy I get from this game: I can continuously replay the same shit over and over again, but each time find a new reason to do so. Like I said, I still need to buy infinite ammo for a ton of weapons, and I'm going to try and get all the figurines. Right now, I'm working on trimming my play time on Amateur to under five hours so I can unlock the infinite Rocket Launcher and beat even more ass. That, by the way, is something I really appreciate about the game. Ok, so you have to beat the game in under five hours to get the launcher. Fair enough. But the great thing about it is that once you beat the game, you can go to the chapter select and see how long each chapter took you to finish. You can then decide which ones you could trim some time from, and just play the ones you want to. You'll see the overall play time on whichever difficulty you go through becoming less and less, and eventually you'll hit the magic five hour mark. Bravo, Capcom, that's some high-level genius shit right there. I'm at about 6 hours on Amateur and 6-and-a-half on Professional, so I still have some work to do.

Making it seem less like work is the massive arsenal I've stockpiled, and it's pretty amazing how different every gun feels. Even the three kinds of magnums have their own strong and weak points. There's the classic Dirty Harry .357, which does massive damage but has a lot of kickback and a slow rate of fire, and the more modern Desert Eagle, which does slightly less damage but fires about three shots a second and is really shiny. Apply the same comparisons to all 18 guns, and you've got yourself a lot of choices, and a lot of different ways to play the game.

Another high-level genius move by Capcom was to allow all your inventory to be available across every difficulty, both single player and co-op. This has let me acquire mass amounts of ammo, grenades and herbs to the point where I now laugh in the face of death as I piss in its mouth. Most bosses go down in under 15 seconds, and that's only because I lack the infinite Rocket Launcher. Once I get that, go ahead and reduce the boss fights to one-hitter quitters. Simply put, there isn't any better possible way to approach the design of this type of game. No matter what I'm doing, everything I pick up and achieve counts. Whether it's finding gold for buying more weapons and upgrades, or tallying up exchange points for unlockables, it all stays constant with my profile. What more could you ask for in an action game?

And let's face it, RE5 is an action game. It's not scary in the classic sense by any stretch of the immagination. So in that respect, you could argue that RE4 is superior. On the other hand, by giving you so many different weapons that can all unlock infinite ammo, in my book that equals Oblivion-like hours of decapitations and bloody mayhem. RE4 gave you the Chicago Typewriter and infinite Rocket Launcher, along with one of the greatest costumes in any game ever. But once you got those, there wasn't much else left to work towards. Which, mind you, I had no qualms about. I played through that game 4 times spanning 2 systems, so that's obviously not a complaint I have against it. But once you realize the sheer amount of options RE5 gives you in terms of firepower, if your jaw doesn't drop, it must be wired shut. Name me one other game that lets you play as a girl in an Amazonian bikini shooting zombies with a longbow. No, the one in your head doesn't count.

Last, but definitely not least, is Mercenaries mode. This mode completely changes the gameplay - it actually reminds me somewhat of The Club - into a fast-paced race against the clock to score as many points as possible by killing everything that moves as quickly as you can. Killing different kinds of enemies, along with the way you kill them, adds points to your score total. There are time extenders located throughout the maps, and you break them open to get, durh, extended time. You can play by yourself or co-op, and it's just insane how intense this thing can get. It really is like a separate game; the tactics that worked for much of the campaign simply don't hold up to the number and ferocity of the enemies in Mercenaries. The best way to go about it is to stick and move, killing a few guys at a time before relocating to a totally different spot. I think there are a total of 8 maps, and you have to rank at least an "A" on the previous map to unlock the next one. Once you do that, the main goal is to get an "S" rank, which, in co-op, is 150,000 points. To put that into perspective, the first time my friend and I tried the mode out, we scored about 45,000. We've yet to get over 60,000 (tip: dead chicken = 2,000 points). It's a total blast to play, though, and the drastically different gameplay is what makes me love it so much.

With everything now laid out, I really won't accept you not loving this game. If you don't, you're either a liar, or a charlatan with ulterior motives kept secret from the ever-prying eyes of your enemies. I am one of those enemies, and I don't like you. However, if you like shooters, and RE4 in particular, then this is a no-brainer. It's everything that made RE4 great, improved upon. That's high praise right there.
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My take on Killzone 2, a.k.a. "It's Not Fucking Halo So Who Gives a Shit!!!11!!1!! Noob!!1!!"

My first impression of Killzone 2 was pretty much the same as my colleague's - that of utter amazement at the sheer badassery of it all. Everything about the presentation, from the graphics to sound design - the overall immersion - is fantastic. I color myself a pretty well-versed FPS player, at least on consoles, so I think I know a good shooter when I see one. And Killzone 2 definitely looks the part. But once I really dug my heels into the game, all my initial amazement slowly grinded to a halt, and it became more of a chore to play than a wonder to behold.

Don't think I'm not aware of the situation; I'm in the minority here, and that's fine. I don't feel like I should be forced to love a game just because its Metacritic average is 94 (I don't know Killzone 2's numbers, but whatever), or because everyone says you have to play it or you're an idiot. Point of fact, I'm not an idiot, and that's exactly the reason why I traded this game in after two days of playing it. Like I said earlier, when I first popped the game in the disc loader (it's not a tray, so...), I was floored by what I was experiencing. Graphics, and more specifically, graphics in an FPS, go a long way toward pulling you into the moment. Explosions rock the screen, bullets whiz by your head, comrades-in-arms are screaming for help, and a flood of evil Nazi-esque baddies are storming your position. It's fucking intense, to say the least. I was intently focused on everything going on around me, because, well, the game demanded I do so. "Look at me!!!" it screamed, and sure enough, I watched with a smile on my face and an itchy trigger finger.

But as the game progressed, more and more I found myself cursing under my breath at the movements of my character. The simple act of aiming at someone was getting cumbersome and, quite frankly, obnoxious. It's not the slow movement speed that bothers me; if that was the case, I could just turn the sensitivity up and be happy. No - because in Killzone 2, you feel like a real person holding a real weapon. I get that, and I actually like it. The problem comes when I want to move and shoot at the same time. It's hard to describe to someone who hasn't played it, but there is a swaying effect that occurs whenever you look around in any direction. The reticle is not instantly responsive to your input, which makes quickly and accurately aiming at an enemy an ordeal in itself. I said the general slow running speed didn't bother me, but add to that the imprecise aiming, and it gets real shitty, real fast. I felt like I was playing under the influence; like I had somehow lost a step or two. It wasn't fun anymore, so I stopped playing. Simple as that.

And no, the fact that I play Halo 3 does not have anything to do with my distaste for Killzone 2. I've also played Far Cry 2, Mirror's Edge, Bioshock, Half-Life 2, Timeshift, Shellshock 2, Resistance, Call of Duty 2 & 4, F.E.A.R. & F.E.A.R. 2, Left 4 Dead, Portal, Rainbow Six: Vegas & Vegas 2, Prey, and Call of Juarez - and that's just the FPS games from this generation. I judge every game on its own merits, and I think Killzone 2 has many in its favor, actually. Just not the one that makes me want to play it. Does that make me a 360 fanboy? Am I lauding the mechanics of one game over another? No, I'm not. I'm simply saying that if the main character of Killzone 2 was to take a breathalyzer test before firing his weapon, he would fail. And I, for one, can't kill anyone unless I'm sober. Read more...

Presumptions of a Protagonist

A discussion over at Brainy Gamer got me thinking: just what is it that we look for in a protagonist? Does it depend on the genre? The story? Lets assume, for the sake of argument, that the protagonist in a game functions as our own avatar -- we project at least some part of ourselves onto that character. In doing so, do we also try to instill a set of beliefs to uphold while we play? I'm aware that some people really don't care, and they just play games to have fun. But others do insist on keeping a kind of moral decorum throughout their playtime, and that ties into the central question of identity that I'm trying to explore.


Let's first look at what is necessary for there to be any point in being self-aware while playing a game. First, the game world has to allow you some degree of choice or consequence that forces you to act according to your own standards. Second, the story has to be believable enough that those choices and consequences have meaning to the player. I'll admit it's not the best of examples, but Bioshock is a game where your choices directly affect the outcome of the story. If you choose to harvest the little sisters, at the end of the game Rapture has turned you into a monster. If, on the other hand, you choose to free them, you become a savior to those children and the story adjusts to accommodate your choice. Other than the simple fact of the two different endings existing, what are the motivations for choosing one over the other? In my case, I couldn't find it in myself to add to the already rapidly decaying citizenry of Rapture. The little sisters may have had to adapt to their surroundings in order to survive, but if I could free them from their fate, there was really no question in my mind. The game also presented its main character as a blank slate, with no dialogue or input from his own thoughts, and in doing so, made it easier for me to make decisions based on what I would do if I were in his shoes.


Another, perhaps better example of a game that let me add my own consciousness to the experience was Fable II. A lot of the quests involved me deciding whether I should help the people of Albion, or make their lives miserable by siding with the various criminals scattered throughout the world. I could protect farmers by eliminating the raiding parties trying to make off with their valuables, or I could join in on the looting and get the farmers killed in the process. Each like decision had a direct influence on my character's physical appearance, and my reputation changed accordingly. And as the game drew to a close, it presented a moral dilemma: save the world, save your friends, or save yourself. I chose my friends, and as a result, the world changed to reflect my choice. It was a tougher decision to make than the one Bioshock asked of me, and its consequences were farther-reaching both in concept and execution. When it was all said and done, my judgments made the game what it was. You could argue the significance of my choice at the end of the game, since I don't think it had much of an impact on the physical world I inhabited -- outside of the central characters' roles in that world, everything basically stayed the same. But the narrative didn't, and for better or worse, it was of my own doing.


Both Bioshock and Fable II meet the criteria for being self-aware while playing a game. I'd like to focus now on a game that meets some of, but not all those criteria: Grand Theft Auto IV. The environment that Rockstar crafted is a fully-realized, living, breathing world. People walk the streets while talking on their cell phones, drivers get into car accidents, the weather changes, and you get a strong sense that you are in an actual city where things happen whether you're there or not. Such a world is an ideal place to have the player experience the full potential of the medium. What could happen in the context of the story if, say, you were driving along the streets of Liberty City and you struck and killed a pedestrian? How could the designers factor in such situations to make a more relative experience? It's fascinating to think about, but unfortunately Rockstar didn't entertain the same thoughts. Or if they did, they weren't able to make a polished game out of them. But still, the world they created remains, along with the potential for the brand of immersive storytelling that lets the player become one with his avatar. The designers not being able to tailor their story to the unique characteristics of their world doesn't negate its existence. And as grand as it is, it's only half of what makes a game fully immersive.


The narrative centers on a man who is looking to escape a world of crime, yet always finds himself dragged(without much resistance, I would add) back in. Initially I was drawn to the character -- I sympathized with his plight, and I tried to see and feel what he saw and felt. But as the game went on, I felt more and more disconnected from what was happening. In a scene central to the motivations of my character, I could choose to shoot someone or let them live. I chose the latter, and was told by another person in the game that I did the right thing. Did my character just grow as a person? At this point, I knew better. The main problem is the way the story and game world mix together. After the scene I just described, if I so chose, I could go about murdering hookers, blowing up police cars and helicopters, setting fire to pedestrians, and committing all sorts of other over-the-top violent acts. Which, taken by itself, I have absolutely no problem with. It's actually fun to me. But the disconnect occurs when I've had enough murder and mayhem for the time being, so I get in a car, drive far away and wait a few minutes, then everything resets in the game. It's like nothing ever happened, and I can continue following the narrative -- which is about my reluctance to commit crimes -- while pretending I didn't just burn thirty people alive. I think GTA IV is such an aggregious offender because of how obvious the disconnect between player and avatar really is. Right when a part of the story sucks you in, you then have to play the game, and all emotional investment is immediately lost.


So it's with that in mind that I ask: are sandbox games not tailored to the self-awareness in games I want to experience? My answer would be no -- at least for the time being. I assume at some point a game will come along that takes both pieces of the puzzle and arranges them in the correct way. But for now -- I don't know, maybe it's a technological shortcoming -- a more focused experience seems to be a better fit for total immersion. I'm hoping Heavy Rain turns out to be one of those experiences, but there's still a lot about the game I don't know. However, judging from the developers at Quantic Dream, it stands a good chance of succeeding where others have failed. At the very least, it will be an aesthetically pleasing adventure game with superficial choices and a very linear plot progression. I'm sure the story will be great, but if it's to do what I think it can, the game will need to give me choices on a far greater scale than most others use.


Aside from player input, another aspect that influences the level of immersion achieved is the physical appearance of the on-screen avatar. Liking or disliking the presentation goes a long way for measuring how much a game connects with the person playing it, and good character design is paramount to getting the best possible connection. Conversely, poor character design can immediately turn off the player, no matter how well other aspects of the game are implemented. Creating the perfect design can be difficult, and depending on the genre, the definition of "perfect" changes. For instance, Mirror's Edge is a game about free-running. To effectively convey that the character belongs in the game world, their design needs to match their surroundings. As such, DICE chose to use a female character design that was more slender and athletic, and she looks like a person accustomed to sprinting and hurdling obstacles. Faith does speak during cutscenes, but her design, combined with the first-person viewpoint allows the player to be more in-tune with her character. Playing the game feels like an extension of your own body instead of just pressing buttons for a desired effect. Add to that a control scheme that compliments the feeling of self, and you end up with a great, immersive experience.


My next point is rather obvious, but the overall quality of a game also determines how well the player is able to combine identities with that of the game character. Jerky animations, rough or unpolished textures, and poor voice acting are all factors that detract from the desired effect. Budget and time constraints weigh heavily on the quality of a game, but a team with enough talented people and creative freedom should be able to excel in any given framework. Braid is an example of a very small team creating an amazing experience with a small budget. While it might not have even made a million dollars, it only cost about $180,000 to make, or at least that's what Jonathan Blow put up from his own pocket to fund the project. Even if that cost was tripled, based on the amount of people who downloaded Braid in its first week of release alone, it still would have made a profit. On the artistic and technical side, Braid used a nostalgic viewpoint as the gateway to a different kind of experience. It may seem like just a platformer with a creative gameplay mechanic, but there are some subtle(and some not so subtle) bits of storytelling strewn about the game world. Everything looks like it's part of a watercolor painting, and just looking at all the art is half the enjoyment of playing. While I don't feel Braid achieves total immersion, it does represent what can be created with limitations in place if the talent is there.


A game could have the greatest story of the last decade, but if the character models look and move like mannequins, the illusion of them being alive is gone. However, I think this only applies for the current generation of games(Xbox Live Arcade exluded), meaning if a game is from before the current hardware cycle, it should be viewed as such. The games that truly make the generational leap intact won't need explaining or excuses for how they look or play. They're looked upon with the same respect they received initially because something about their design still hits a chord with players.


In closing, I'd like to share my personal feelings on why total immersion is so important. I'm a heavy film buff, and along with games they are my primary source of entertainment and critical thinking. With film, I don't expect to relate to a character in the same way I do with games. The people and places depicted in film have a definite story arch that cannot be altered. I begin watching, experience what the filmmakers want me to, and the experience ends. I'm certainly capable of relating what the characters go through to my own life, but with games, the potential for me to do so is far greater. By dictating what happens in a game with my own ideals and beliefs, I feel a greater sense of ownership and have a deeper emotional investment in what's going on. But that only happens when a game allows it to. Most of what I play doesn't aspire to such heights, and that's fine by me. But when they do, it solidifies my assertion that as a medium, video games are totally unique in regard to any other form of entertainment. I'll continue to play and enjoy games that are solidly built yet flawed, but when those special gems come around with higher aspirations that elevate them above the pack, it makes me proud to call myself a gamer.


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