I hope for Dragon Quest X, for the Wii, to filter players’ Mii data though a library of stock Akira Toriyama face and body features, such as to produce customized Dragon Quest styled approximations of the players.
That would seem like something Yuji Horii would have on his “to do” list.
Hey, Tim. Any way you can suggest it to him next time you’re in the same room?
Yes, I think that’s a decent way of looking at it. All these new, supposedly more “friendly” control schemes aren’t really acting as such. They are still forcing new players to remove their preconcieved attachment to, say, swinging a tennis racket, and replacing it with a more standard video game approach in order to get anywhere. They’re essentially just pushing buttons, in the end.
That’s not an issue with the Wii as such, I don’t think, as much as it is with the dumb, overly abstract way things are being designed. What I’ve noticed is that few Wii games either detect the Wiimote in realspace and realtime (as Boxing and Baseball do) or simply use the Wiimote for what it’s worth in added nuance (like an analog stick or trigger, only way more so). Instead, they’re just replacing buttons with gestures and canned animations. It’s frustrating to see — and not even so much as an end product as in what that product shows about how unable game designers currently are, en masse, to wrap their heads around the bleedin’ obvious.
Red Steel is a pretty good example. Instead of giving the player a sword and a gun, and letting him gradually learn how to use them properly — teaching new techniques and whatnot as the game progresses, staggering out “assignments” of sorts (not literal ones) over the game’s story, to allow players to get accustomed to some key concepts of swordfighting or shooting or mixing the two — you tell him to move the controller like this to make this animation happen, and maybe earn new gestures as the game progresses. What the hell? How could you possibly screw this up?
Though this is one of the more obvious examples, you’ll see this problem in pretty much all Wii games currently available — and indeed, in Gamer and press discussion about the system. You can see people straining their imaginations to figure out something to do with the system, and it doesn’t work. Either you get gimmicks or you get phantom buttons. Digital do-or-don’t.
It’s… really not that hard! The Wii really suggests two things: added nuance to traditional games (instead of just doing X, you can do X in any number of ways; the way the game plays changes dynamicly to match your body language) and giving the player true first-person control, for all the subtlety that implies, with a minimum of abstraction, over a certain range of motions. The advantage here is the ability to explore concepts with an organicity impossible with just a digital player involvement — again, making people really learn how to use a sword (more or less) rather than simply pressing buttons or making gestures to cause an on-screen character to do something.
Instead of the player’s avatar developing and learning new things as an abstraction of progress, and instead of learning complex arbitrary and abstract gestures (like moves in a fighting game), the player himself or herself physically learns how to produce difficult, subtle actions that have a tangible result in the gameworld to whatever degree of skill the player posesses.
Imagine a fighting trainer. The wiimote is exchanged for four sensor bands, strapped to each of the player’s wrists and shins, as well as perhaps a belt to provide a center reference point (and perhaps force feedback for when the player receives a blow). The game gradually metes out concepts to the player — not just to improve mechanical technique and to teach new maneuvers; also to improve the way the player mentally contextualizes all of this. It could to some extent teach the art of fighting as well as the science — or at least a reasonable enough facimile for verisimilitude. Likewise, completely new skill sets with no real-world parallel could be devised for the player — so long as they were produced and could be reproduced in a believable and nuanced way.
Games that involve physical concepts would use the Wiimote physically, as above; games that involve more abstract or intellectual ones would use it more abstractly — closer to how we normally think about playing videogames, except with an added layer of capability. Press forward to walk; tilt the controller subtly forward to jog or run forward; tilt it subtly back to creep; tilt it left or right (while still holding forward) to sway or dodge in those directions. The way this should be balanced, the player shouldn’t be expected to physically, consciously tilt the controller so much as the game should respond to slight changes in the player’s posture — those little subvoluntary movements that we make when we want the avatar to behave in a certain way — go faster, hold back, watch out! Excite Truck sort of tries to do this, though it doesn’t seem to be executed as well as it could be.
Likewise, a whole range of related motions could easily be mapped to a single button — much like the state-shifting afforded by shoulder buttons, except intrinsicly analog. Press the button to execute a punch; when pressing the button, move or position the Wiimote this or the other way way to punch in different ways for a subtly different effect. Flick the tip up for an uppercut, say. Imagine the way a Silent Hill 2 or a Metal Gear Solid could take advantage of this subtlety and flexibility — the way it could read into the player’s body language and movement patterns and extrapolate a certain level of psychology from them, to make unseen behind-the-scenes decisions.
This is a pretty damned important breach we’re crossing, here — and we’ve been given a decent, if somewhat rickety, bridge. Yet so far people are just laying the bridge on the ground and using it as a replacement for a sidewalk or a new kind of a bed, or trying to figure out really clever pieces of playground equipment they could turn it into. I kind of hope people get more smart, before the novelty wears off.
Yeah. This doesn’t completely surprise me, except in the sense that it actually happened.
Handhelds are a better place for introverted, focused experiences. (See Metroid II.) In terms of the mindset involved, playing a handheld is like reading a book, whereas playing a console is like watching TV. Again, look how perfect Dragon Warrior is on the Game Boy — how much better it is than on the NES. Also: having a lengthy “novel” game makes more sense if you can pick it up and put it down at leisure, rather than being forced to sit in one place and stare at a screen for hundreds of hours. Leave the consoles for flash and fun; visceral stuff. Like the Wii, say.
Also to consider: as great as DQ8 is, there are two major abstractions left that seem kind of contrary to what Horii wants to do with the series. For one, the player controls more than one character. That’s a little weird. For another, it’s got random turn-based battles. Honestly, that doesn’t seem like part of Horii’s great plan for the series. It never has; it’s just been something he’s settled with until now.
So yeah. The DS seems like an ideal place to put the game. What’s really interesting is the multiplayer aspect — which I didn’t expect at all, yet which again sort of makes sense, depending on how it’s implemented. If players can come and go at will — join each other or set off on their own tasks, each with his or her own agenda — it’ll work. If there are too many constraints to the framework, keeping people from just playing the damned game whether their friends are around or not, it’ll be a bit of a downer.
I’m kind of undecided what this game means in the end. On the one hand it seems likely it’s meant as an intermediary step while Horii works on Dragon Quest X for the Wii. Considering how far along this game seems to be (implying it’s been in the works for at least months, maybe a year), it seems like it’s part of a long-term plan. Also considering that the sword game seems basically like a testing bed for a new battle system… well, do the math. And yet, there’s this issue about the DS actually being the most suitable system out there right now (in terms of market saturation, the nature of the format, and the qualities it has to offer).
Maybe it’s just the most suitable platform for Dragon Quest IX in particular, for everything he wants to do with the game. If X is going to work the way I think it might, it’s going to pretty visceral and showy — demanding a home system. One in particular (that being the most visceral available).
Basically, every game Horii makes appears to be just another approach to the same game he’s been trying to make for twenty years. He never quite winds up with what he wants — though lately he’s getting a little closer. From what I can see, this is just one more angle, allowing him to capture a certain aspect of his vision that he hadn’t been able to before (perhaps at the expense of some other elements, that he’s already explored). So, you know, right on. These details seem worth exploring.
The next game… maybe it’s time to assemble? See how all the pieces fit?
The thing that I dig about Dragon Quest is that, whatever the surface problems, the games are visionary. It’s a strong, uncluttered vision that all the games reflect even if they don’t always embody it. As “retro” as they seem, they’re not just crapped out according to a formula; they’re each trying to achieve something that’s way beyond them — meaning an endless pile of compromises.
I find that pretty encouraging. Not the placeholders; the way Horii isn’t afraid to use them, while he roughs out everything else. And that he doesn’t let them distract him; he just devises them, then discards them when they’re no longer of use. He keeps chugging along, going through draft after draft until he gets it exactly right. It’s a very classical disposition. Very honest, at least to my eye.
He’s a lot like Miyamoto, except Miyamoto sort of gave up a long time ago. And Miyamoto’s vision isn’t quite as focused (though in turn, it is broader than Horii’s).
The one problem I can see with going from turn-based to real-time battles is that the battles in Dragon Quest — I don’t think they’re really always meant to stand in for actual fighting, as much as they’re a stand-in for any number of hardships and growth experiences that a person like the player might encounter in a situation like the quest at hand. Some of that might be actual battle; some of it might be much subtler and harder to depict in a game like this.
Keeping the battles turn-based and separated from the wandering-around makes the metaphor a lot clearer as a compromise, rather than as something special or important in its own right. Changing to a system that makes the game actually about fighting loads of monsters… I’m not sure if this is precisely the point he’s looking for. Still, it’s a trade off. Get more specific somewhere, you have to lose a nuance somewhere else.
I wonder what other sorts of difficulties or experiences could be devised, besides semipermeable monster walls holding you back. Ones that would add to (or rather further clarify), rather than detract from (or muddy), the experience. And preferably that wouldn’t be too scripted.
I’m thinking a little of Lost in Blue, though I don’t know how appropriate its ideas would be, chopped out and inserted whole. Still, general survival issues seem relevant: having certain bodily needs (and maybe psychological ones — though who the hell knows how to address that) that, though not difficult to attend to, cause problems if you don’t. So in the occasions you do run into real immediate difficulty (battles, whatever), you’ll be in far greater danger if you’ve been pressing yourself too far; if you haven’t sufficiently prepared. Likewise, injury might be a real problem — so the player would have to think carefully, weigh cost and benefit, before charging into dangerous situations.
Not pressing out would mean you’d never learn more, get better, stretch your boundaries. Being foolhardy would get you killed. Same deal we’ve got now; just more nuanced.
I’m sure there are other ways to do it. Maybe more interesting ones.
It could be I’m reading in some things that aren’t overtly intended. Still, I’ve never felt the battles were as important as what they stood for. They’re too straightforward. They’re used too cannily, as a barrier. The trick, again, is whether there’s an interesting and functional way of more literally representing what they might stand for. I dunno. Maybe not! At least, not right now. So all right, violence. Fair enough.
It looks like it’s been announced for the Nintendo DS. Which is… pretty big news! I mean, this is one of the most important series in Japan — one of the things that effectively makes a console. Though to be fair, it’s also usually released for the console with the biggest (or projected so) user base. For that to be the DS, instead of a home system… hell. You want to see some paradigms shifted? Here you go.
I’m guessing that Yangus Mysterious Dungeon game was meant as a test for the system, to see if the DS could handle a game roughly on the scale of DQXIII. I’ve not played the former (I don’t think it’s even getting a release over here); I hear it’s pretty darned impressive, for what it is. I’m undecided if I think this DS game is in turn meant as a prototype for a Wii game (as Horii has hinted at in the past), or if he’s trying to say something by moving the series to a portable system. Considering how damned well earlier Dragon Quest games have worked on the Game Boy (way better than on home systems), and considering how much more free time Japanese salarymen have on the train than at home, I’m guessing this might be considered a more efficient format for “timesink” games of this sort. I know I’ve suggested as much in the past. (Hey, is the industry starting to catch up to me?)
Here’s another paradigm: it’s turning into a “communication” game (Wi-Fi enabled), and it seems it’s becoming real-time. So hell, there are a couple more abstractions out of the way — basically the last significant ones remaining in DQXIII. No more turns, and you only control one character. I wonder how this will work out in practice; if players can simply hop into and out of each other’s quests, or if it’s more restricted.
EDIT: Well, there we go. Someone’s writing about it already. And yeah, forgot to mention the Level-5 bit. It’s interesting they’re still tied to the series, considering how eager they are to break out and do their own thing!
Final Fantasy XII tries so hard not to be dumb — indeed, to actively address almost everything wrong with Japanese RPGs. The result of this effort (and of the general inspiration behind the package) is one of the most engrossing, sincere “big” games I’ve played in a while. I mean, I really, really enjoy this thing. Seriously! It’s a damned ballsy game, that I’d recommend to anyone. On the surface the only significant problems are thus:
The license board isn’t a bad idea in principle; it’s just in execution that it comes off as one more bizarre affectation. The idea is that any character can, in theory, learn to do anything so long as he or she has the training or experience to do so. Learning how to do one thing (say, to cast some simple white magic) makes it possible to learn similar skills, with just a little more investment. Learning to properly use a mace, on the other hand, won’t do much for your ability to cast Fire.
The way it’s implemented, though — urgh. Why can’t I wear a hat that I just picked off the ground, without first “purchasing” the ability to do so? If I know how to use one kind of sword, why am I wholly unable to use another unless I purchase the ability? And in typical RPG style, why am I all at once magically able to do these things, once I buy the ability? The way this should have been done is as follows:
There’s no real problem with gambits; this system is the main stroke of genius here. I just wish they were more nuanced. For instance, I’d like to be able to say “if [any enemy] is [within striking range], then [equip] [X melee weapon].” Then attack. Otherwise if they’re not in striking range, equip your range weapon and attack. Also, I don’t know why it’s not giving me the option to target enemies equal to or lower than X health; only greater than. You always want to beat the weakest enemies first, so you clear them away! Again, not a big problem; it’s just that I’m frustrated that I can’t always program my companions to act as I would act — which in theory is the point to the gambit system; to keep me from having to choose the same options over and over from a menu.
Finally, it’s a little strange that the game basically takes place in real time, yet everyone waits his turn to act. There’s no reason for this; it should instead be based on a sort of an initiative system (and retaining the ability to “pause” and issue new orders). Characters and monsters would act the moment they have the opening, and those actions would take a certain amount of time to execute. (Likewise, placement would matter a lot more; you can only hit someone if you’re rudimentarily within range.) The effect would be real-time battles to match the real-time maneuvering.
And on that note, I’d like direct control over my party leader. I want to be able to assign actions to my face buttons, and only have to call up a menu for my less common actions (or to send a command to my companions). This again can be an option — much as there is an option now to leave time running (instead of pausing) when you’ve the menu open. It would not significantly change the way the game played (at least, with the above initiative system), it would make me feel far more involved, and it would simply make more sense.
While we’re here, I wish the overworld would seamlessly stream instead of being broken into hunks of map. I realize this is due to the PS2’s famous memory limitations. Still, hey. Crystal Dynamics figured it out. Also: if it’s going to be forty-five minutes between save points, I’d like a quicksave option. That sounds reasonable to me.
I’d say that all of these alterations would be natural for any sequel to FFXII (especially now that Square is hot on sequels to individual FF games) — except Squenix (and millions of Square fans, and Penny-Arcade) seem to consider this game a failure best forgotten. Ah well. Grace wouldn’t be grace if it were self-evident.
It’s fun that the game pretty much sidelines the Nomura-chic protagonist (who I call Corey) and his “girl chum”, in favor of the more interesting supporting cast and their political drama. This might just be the first game I’ve ever admired for its spoken dialog.
So JNT didn’t have a strong creative vision guiding him. Well, sure; that’s obvious, considering where the show went (or didn’t) during the ’80s, until Cartmel came around. In that sense his approach — being so hands-off — was significant. So were his ideas about casting, his ideas about presentation, his ideas about continuity, his feel for showmanship, the way he tried to spin the show for various groups (in particular the increasing fanbase and the BBC management). There’s a pretty good story to be told here, and it needn’t be altogether negative. If anything, there’s more drama here than in most earlier periods.
As with any other era, the way JNT handled the show (or didn’t!) clearly led to the way it turned out and was ultimately perceived. It’s the mechanics of this that it would be enlightening to see illustrated, especially in contrast to other production eras.
I mean, even this discussion right here has made some connections in my brain that I hadn’t made before. Yeah, of course; JNT didn’t pay much attention to the creative ins and outs, did he — though he had some vague and shaky concept of a “big picture” he wanted for the show, and he had a few arbitrary things he felt he wanted to see. That would explain why it kind of went in circles, and why it kept referring to the past so much instead of moving forward. And why he made so many apparently odd demands. And why it was so terribly uneven, jumping from brillant to questionable to conservative to oddly progressive. And it would also explain why Cartmel was able to have so much influence when he came aboard, as there were no real creative conflicts (aside from JNT’s random specific demands). The show was just something to produce, with certain production concerns, according to a form he was familiar with.
Everyone was looking to the producer as a creative force, a guiding spirit for the show — and he was just expecting everyone else to get on with their creative work, while he paid attention to the mechanics of getting the show made and selling it to his bosses, the fans, and the general audience. After season 18 and until the McCoy era, no one was really driving. The real problem in the ’80s seems like it was one of communication — with perhaps a side order of organization (though that’s kind of a facet of communication).
That right there — that’s fascinating as hell.
Or to put it another way, this was the era where the script editor became the supreme creative force over the show — whether he appreciated it or not! Both Bidmead and Cartmell had distinct ideas what to do with the series, and went about implementing them with little interference; Saward… well, I’m not entirely sure what he was doing. There was obviously a huge communication issue here, in terms of what each party expected of the other, that wasn’t present with the other two editors, that just led to escalating frustration all around. Again: drama! Needn’t be dirty; if anything, an even analysis of the situation could defuse a lot of tension and anger that still seems to lurk around this area. Clear up a lot of misconceptions, and open it up for rethinking.
Dwelling a little more, this lack of communication on JNT’s part (though again there are two sides to any exchange, and neither Bidmead nor Cartmel seemed to have all that much difficulty, comparably speaking) might to some extent explain why he was stuck with the show for so long.
It’s often struck me as odd that JNT kept asking the BBC to reassign him, yet was continually refused. Looking back, I realize in most cases the sitting producers and script editors tended to have successors in mind who they preened for the role before themselves moving on. JNT didn’t approach it this way; again, it appears he was all business. When he decided he wanted to quit, he figured he could just fill out the forms and trot along; he’d done his part of the picture. The problem was, he was leaving to other people the task of continuing the show — much as he generally left the creative duties to the script editor, writers, directors, and cast. Of course the BBC wouldn’t have that; they probably felt it was his job to get the show’s affairs in order. Indeed, if JNT didn’t do it I can’t imagine who would.
Though JNT’s approach didn’t seem a very good fit for the show, I’m not sure if he can wholly be blamed. He just seemed to have different expectations from everyone else — and in another situation, his expectations might have been essentially reasonable. And they might have worked, if everyone wasn’t looking to him to make decisions that he wasn’t prepared to make and had simply let him do what he was good at — an area where, from what I understand, he was indeed quite skilled.
Something curious about Wayne’s World is that, whereas most movies expanded from TV shows or skits throw the main characters into a situation where the goofy yet courageous heroes have to preserve [x] from the sleazy [corporate/bureaucratic/criminal something], in this case most of Wayne’s problems are entirely his own fault. They come out of the same character traits that put him in an endless string of food service jobs, living out of his parents’ house, wishing he could make something out of his life. These in turn simply the downside of the same traits that make him so charming and fun to be around in the short term.
Which, come to think of it, is a similar situation to the one in The Big Lebowski. And collectively (both as a unit and within that unit), to the main characters in The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. And even, yes, to Charlie Kaufman’s protagonists (despite the existential crisis in Adaptation). The qualities that make the characters distinctive and interesting to watch are also those that make them vulnerable; a strong character-based plot (and every plot is to some extent character-based) explores the positive and negative qualities of those traits, first by ingratiating the characters then by showing how those qualities we admire allow them to screw up, then showing how, when applied correctly, those traits can in some way redeem the characters. It’s pretty much scriptwriting 101, of course; the nature of a character arc. Still, there you go.
On an essential level, that’s what we’re there to experience: people who are redeemable fuckups, whose power for redemption comes from the same quality that makes them weak. The question, of course, is where to draw the line: how fatal, exactly, is that fatal flaw? It all depends on the character, and the traits in question — which is basically the point. As all stories are character-based (even if that character is nonliving or even nonphysical), a satisfying story comes entirely out of those characters’ characters. And there’s very little contrived about Wayne’s World; it’s a solid, honest, well-told story. For the movie’s origin and premise, this is pretty unusual! It comes through allowing the character to indeed be fuckups, rather than putting them on a pedestal where they can do no wrong and all the world’s ills befall them in spite of their best efforts.
Then Wayne’s World 2 finds the main cast again in a rut, basically relying on the same shortcuts that got them through life last time we saw them — only now they’re a little older, and the world is a little bigger, and none of their tricks are working anymore. If anything, they’re backfiring on a basic level. Taking the whole plot into account, they’re backfiring on a scale grander and deeper than is immediately obvious — which is sort of the whole point to the movie, and the reason for most of its awkward humor. Part of the reason the movie maybe isn’t so easy to like as the first one is that it portrays its characters as even less effectual than before. None of the character traits we’re there to see are doing the protagonists much good. The movie is basically chiding them for not learning their lesson last time, and giving them one last lesson by showing them the results of their lack of development. (Sort of an Ebenezer Scrooge thing.) It’s a really good coda, though — and an appropriate one, given the characters.
by [name redacted]
This article was originally intended as a conclusion to NextGen’s 2006 TGS coverage. Then it got held back for two months as an event piece. By the time it saw publication its window had sort of expired, so a significantly edited version went up under the title “What The New Consoles Really Mean”.
So we’re practically there. TGS is well over, the pre-orders have begun; Microsoft’s system has already been out for a year (and is now graced with a few excellent or important games). The generation is right on the verge of turning, and all those expensive electronics you’ve been monitoring for the last few years, half dreading out of thriftiness and secret knowledge that there won’t be anything good on them for a year anyway, will become the new status quo. Immediately the needle will jump and point at a new horizon, set around 2011, and everyone will start twiddling his thumbs again. By the time the drama and dreams resume, I’ll be in my early thirties, another American president will have served nearly a full term – and for the first time in my life I really can’t predict what videogames will be like.
Museum of Terror 3 is supposedly out now, though again I’ve not yet seen it. As good as are the earlier volumes, I far more enjoyed this than the first two. Furthermore, I think it should be a lot easier to get into than the Tomie stuff. If you pick up one English-language manga this year, choose this one! Dark Horse isn’t sure whether or not to continue the line, so sales of this book are critical.
Oh hey, remember that article I spent so long finishing? It’s going to go up soon, albeit in greatly condensed and at times summarized form. Colin has no objections to my putting the full version up shortly after its initial publication, so watch this space over the weekend for an excusive director’s cut.
I guess the issue was, I intended this to be published two months ago as sort of a conclusion to TGS. I finished it a few weeks ago, and it got held until now as an “event” piece. Then I guess Colin realized it didn’t quite address the new system launches the way he wanted it to, so it got paraphrased into something kind of different. Fair enough, I guess. He’s the editor.
Anyway, I’ll post the original version on Sunday or Monday, after NextGen has accumulated most of the hits it’ll get. It’s kind of different! I was actually pretty excited about some of the ideas in it; a shame they won’t get more air.
(Yes, Shaper, I’m still working on your article. I’ve got it sketched out, and almost two pages of finished text. Moving slowly! As usual! It’s coming, though — if not in exactly the way I expected.)
Finally a pretty good Torchwood episode. Though each of the previous three was better than the last , last week’s height was a respectable mediocrity. Now we’re basically on target with what I expected out of the series from the start. Aside from the story and tone details (A snappy pace! Enough plot to fill an entire episode! “Adult” content that doesn’t feel completely gratuitous!), finally we get some decent characterization going on! For the first time, there’s some chemistry! Even Dr. Sato gets more to do than usual, here — which isn’t to suggest a lot.
And amongst all that, it’s probably the best Cyberman story ever produced. (Which isn’t to suggest a lot!)
Actually, that leads to odd thing: despite this episode being the biggest, most obvious crossover yet with the parent series, it’s also the first one that seems to project its own personality apart from Who. Perhaps it was being set almost entirely in the Hub, mostly using elements introduced in the previous episodes — and the Who crossover, though involving a traditional monster, was directly tied to established Torchwood lore. From the pizza to the Canary Wharf incident to Ianto’s background, to Jack’s intense hardness, for once this series feels like it’s got its own mythology.
Now that I know the production team is capable of living up to some of the series potential, I guess I can be a little harder on it. Given that this is what I had always imagined as an “average” episode of Torchwood, I’ll be expecting a lot from now on.
by [name redacted]
Originally published by Next Generation, under the title “How to Make Fear“.
With Halloween at hand, surely there must be some way to warp the festive energy to our own analytical ends. Just see what happens when you invite us to a party! Don’t fret, though – though full of long words, our museum of terror takes the well-oiled form of a top ten list. We know how you like your information, and it’s in bite-sized individually wrapped treats. Please… be our guest.
Am I missing something, or has Sci-Fi not edited the show so far this series? We’ve just seen, I believe, the longest episode of the run — so long it didn’t even have a “Next Time” trailer at the end — and I didn’t notice any missing footage. This is as compared to last spring, where if an episode ran even a few seconds over 42:00, whole scenes were snipped — usually anything that dealt with Rose and the Doctor’s relationship.
Another note: the ad breaks were generally quite well-placed in “Rise of the Cyberman”. If anything, I think the added pauses helped the episode along by adding tension in the right places and generally letting the interesting moments sink in. That cut after “Back ‘er up” was rather genius, I thought.
Still felt more like an episode of Sliders than Doctor Who. Probably the most I’ve enjoyed it, though.
I also realized for the first time that Rose’s weakness and pissiness in this episode — which I previously interpreted as being terribly out of character — might be at least partially explained by the Doctor’s recent behavior, re: Mme. Pompadour and horses and windows. Perhaps the Doctor is losing some hold on her here, especially in the face of her own flavor of temptation. Later, of course, all the other men in her life abandon her, leaving her with just the Doctor — almost like a sign, or punishment for doubting him. I guess in this light I can see where the Doctor might try to take her to see Elvis.
It’s also here, I imagine — as she realizes there’s nothing left in her life but the Doctor — that Rose latches onto him hardcore, setting up the final couple of episodes. The season’s starting to make a little more sense to me.
EDIT: Oh, they cut the “In the Jungle” scene? No wonder the episode seemed so much better than usual! It is, of course, the favorite scene of nearly every hardcore Who fan (often cited “the only good scene”). I’ve always felt it dragged the episode down, though I never realized how much. That its omission was so invisible seems to suggest, almost by definition, how gratuitous it was.
“Ideally, if anything were any good, it would be indescribable.” – Edward Gorey
He has the right to voice an opinion. Your response was unnecessarily rude. Please refrain from such “snarkasm” in future, ok?
Thing is, simply voicing an opinion isn’t terribly constructive either. It’s not an issue of whether this person has the right to or not; it’s an issue of whether doing so adds to the discussion.
Okay, so it’s “naff”. Fair enough. Point is, simply declaring it so doesn’t say anything particularly meaningful. Now if this assertion were paired with an explanation for why it’s naff (whether insightful or bizarre), then hey — there’s a point for discussion. Someone here might have a chance of learning something, or having an interesting thought, however trivial.
On its own, though, raw opinion is pretty rude itself. It takes up space, demands attention to itself, and gives nothing in return. It is a vacuum of communication, crying “I” at the heart of the world. Beyond that, it’s uncomfortably prevalent around here. Thus the snippy response; it gets tiresome. Perhaps unwarranted in this circumstance, of course; I’m just slowly getting irritated.
What was the first game to implement a life bar (compared with hit points or other measures of non-one-hit kills)?