We All Fall Down

The Grail

  • Reading time:1 mins read

What do you look for in an RPG? What should it accomplish for you? What should it feel like to play it?

It should inspire me in such a way that I feel hundreds of hours of inane plotting and longing-to-be-retired game systems are worth slogging through. Generally that inspiration takes the form of “there is something amazing out there, somewhere — and lots of lesser wonders, that are up to me to realize”. And I should feel like every one of those discoveries (material or not) is a victory won, in its own right. A personal accomplishment.

Actually, uh. That’s the way I approach just about everything in life. So.

Motivation

  • Reading time:1 mins read

It occurs to me that most people are lonely, to one extent or another. And that this is the driving force behind most of the things that people do.

Telltale Games: Bringing Great Stories to Life

  • Reading time:1 mins read

by [name redacted]

Reflecting back a year, Conners recounted the fan reaction at the last Wondercon, when he first announced Bone. People were upset; everyone who responded assumed Telltale would make it into “a crazy action game”. Conners said, in retrospect, that was a natural assumption. When you look at what’s out there now, that’s the image that video games tend to carry – in particular games based on licensed properties. Nevertheless, what’s important, is to match match your gameplay with the kind of story you want to portray.

( Continue reading at GamaSutra )

Foreign Data

  • Reading time:4 mins read

Back in the early NES days, the way Nintendo presented their games, all bunched together in an “official” lineup that you’d see repeated to you with every new game you bought, it’s like those games were the straight-out canon. Straying from the first-party line was sort of a risk; a trip into the unknown. Outside of some major players like Capcom and Konami, no one really talked about the “other” publishers very much. And yet every company had its own template, to distinguish its lineup from anyone else’s. You could tell a Konami game by the gradiated silver border; a Capcom one by the weird perspecive grid thing, with the box art centered on top of it; a Broderbund one by the entire bottom of the front cover being silver, leaving a little room for an illustration up top.

Now, most of the major companies had appealing templates, with reasonably appealing illustrations — and most of the games themselves looked reasonably appealing. If you didn’t understand exactly what the games were, from a title, a painting, and a couple of screenshots, you could hazard a guess based on the company’s other games and be intrigued. Some companies, though, they just creeped the hell out of me. Like Data East or Acclaim.

You look at boxes like this, and your brow furrows. In particular, the ones toward the bottom — Star Voyager and Winter ames and 3D Worldrunner — have layouts sort of similar, though not identical, to Nintendo’s “black box” template. Star Voyager’s screenshots show red lines on a black background, with what looks like an NES pad at the bottom of the screen. The Winter Games art depicts glowing neon outlines of people in snowsuits, leaving tracers. You look at these boxes, or any ads for Acclaim’s bizarre lineup, and you wonder. Mind that there weren’t any decent reviews out there for third-party games. To find out what these game are, you’d have to shell out money for them — and yet you’re ten years old. You don’t have fifty bucks, and if you did you’d probably spend it on something “safe”, from Nintendo or Konami, instead. These strange boxes will remain on shelves, and in the ads in game magaines, staring at you, making you uneasy, their mysteries locked out of your reach.

I mean, what on (or off) Earth is Lunar Pool? I’m reminded of when, as a boy, I was left in Epcot Center to wander unsupervised for half a day.

Now we know what most of these games are. We can go back and investigate the ones we’ve missed. We no longer have these page-sized masses of mystery glaring at us. And yet, even if you do dig in — have you seen how glitchy Karnov is? Or Breakthru? Are these games fun the way Konami’s and Nintendo’s games are fun? Is there something that no one’s explained to us? It still feels risky — a little dangerous, a little unnerving — to wade into these waters. Maybe those older, cooler, clearly wiser kids who skateboarded and could play arcade games like I never could said and did all sorts of things I didn’t understand — maybe they’d understand them. Maybe when I was older too they’d not seem so alien to me.

Today we’d just reject the games as crap. Look at the reputation Deadly Towers has achieved, thanks to Seanbaby and Something Awful. And yet — not having played it — to me that game was one of the most mysterious things on the NES. The box art, the screenshots — they seemed to hint at something beyond my grasp. So many times I almost went for it; after asking the Kay-Bee clerk for one last look at the box, I’d tell him this time I’d buy the game. I never quite dared. Instead, I have almost a full collection of Nintendo black-box games, and early Konami and Capcom releases. Ah well.

Buttoning Down

  • Reading time:14 mins read

by [name redacted]

Originally published by Next Generation, then later BusinessWeek, under the title “Revolution Pressing the Right Buttons“.

There’s only so much you can do with a button. You press it, something happens. You don’t press it, something doesn’t. If it’s an analog button, and you press it even harder, maybe that thing will happen even more: maybe you’ll run faster, or you’ll punch with more vigilance. Maybe if you hold down a second button when you press that first one, something subtly different will happen. Instead of lashing out with a whip, say, the little man on the TV screen will throw a boomerang. Either way, he still attacks; the second button just changes how he does it. Those are more or less our options: do something, do more of something, or do a different kind of something. It’s all very straightforward. So too, then, is the history of game controllers.

Buttoning Down

  • Reading time:8 mins read

What if the GBA had had two more buttons, as people kept asking for at the time? What difference would that have made?

You know, aside from fighting games, I don’t see what use the extra two buttons would be. Few games really use more than that for anything significant, and if they do they’re often rather clumsily designed. The GBA has two shoulder buttons that rarely get used for anything much.

Even now, how many DS games use the extra buttons to any particular effect?

As much as I enjoy certain fighting games, I find it kind of stupid that they’re always used as an excuse for a million buttons and a standard layout for controllers. If people want to play fighting games, they can go buy a fighting pad — which most people who are serious about the genre, which includes most people who bother with it, do anyway.

Of course, you can’t easily do that with a handheld. Still, what are fighting games on a handheld besides a novelty? NeoGeo Pocket aside. Which has… two buttons.

But the shoulder buttons are awkward to use, so perhaps that’s why. Anyway, games don’t have to use every button on a controller. Don’t more buttons just increase the available options?

Shoulder buttons aren’t really meant to be action buttons. They’re basically useful for state issues. For changing the nuance of the face buttons — much as with holding up to use the secondary items in Castlevania, versus simply mapping it to a third button.

The more you can abstract the actions, the better. If you’ve got an attack button, try to put all direct attacks on that button. If you’ve got a jump/propel bodily button, try to put everything jumping or flying or swimming or whatever-related on that button. Context (including the context of state-shifting buttons like triggers) narrows down the verb, so the player doesn’t have to think about it.

That’s kind of the idea behind Ocarina, with its context-sensitive jumping and junk. It just wasn’t implemented too well there. RE4 does basically the same thing, except it gets it basically right. In that case, “A” is basically the “DO SOMETHING” button — and what you do is determined entirely by circumstance and what other buttons you’re holding down.

In this light, the point about few GBA games using the shoulder buttons still holds. Between the two shoulder buttons, that basically gives you six face button functions — and yet how many games take advantage of this?

But using the shoulder buttons for state shifting isn’t practical. And besides, a diamond layout lets you pretend the buttons are a second D-pad, for all that implies. And again, isn’t it simply better to have more available options, even if those options are rarely used? Having fewer buttons limits the types of games you can create.

Let’s not be silly. State-shifting is not only practical; it’s one of the only significant concepts in control design to be introduced in the last fifteen years. I’d love to hear what makes it impractical.

Though I guess it’s nice, using the face buttons as a second D-pad is an incredibly specific and imperfect use, that is almost never implemented. Though I might adore Bangai-O, this argument is just as silly as saying every system needs six face buttons so people can play Street Fighter properly.

Of course having fewer buttons limits the possible variety of games. Which is why the PS2 has so many more kinds of games on it than the NES does.

…

As for the “more choice = inherently good” argument: not really. Arguably so at best. See older relatives, who get confused when there’s more than one button on a controller. See the Brain Training game for the DS, that asks people to ignore all of those strange, extra buttons on the system. The most important element in any videogame is an intuitive interface — something that anyone can pick up and quickly understand. An ideal default interface will also offer flexibility on a game-to-game basis, meaning it can’t be too specialized.

The other benefit here is that the fewer input options there are, and the more intuitively they are designed, the more care and consideration developers have to put into control design. Sure, some people will always screw up their work no matter what help they’re given. Might as well rein in the margin for confusion as well as practicable, however — if just for the sake of the end user.

Of course, the question is one of balance. How little functionality is too little to be functional, and how much functionality can you include before you generate clutter — therefore distraction and confusion — in the name of very specific implementations?

State-shifting address this issue elegantly by providing few options then tiering them to accomodate extra depth, for those circumstances where it is desired or required. Think of it in terms of a reference tool. Is it more ideal to have every possible item you might want to read about all on one page, or do you want to break it down into categories, then subcategories? The more you want to know, the more specific the knowledge you desire, the deeper you delve. No clutter. No noise. No distraction. Or a significant reduction in all of this, anyway.

Here are a bunch of games that (arguably) require two joysticks, so ha! And see, I didn’t even mention a FPS yet! And I’ll pretend not to mention fighting games either because you clearly hate them so much!

Yes, exactly. So what?

Mind that I like just about every game you’ve mentioned. Almost.

But you said there were barely any games like that! So there’s a bunch, and I can keep on going! What else are you going to dismiss just because it doesn’t fit into your ideal scheme, huh?!

Look, it’s the same fighting game argument again: Street Fighter uses six buttons, so every controller must have six buttons or else you can’t play street fighter! Except weaker. I’m not dismissing the existence of fighting games or first-person shooters or these random and rare double-joystick games you seem so fixated on; I’m dismissing their import in dictating an idealized default input method, specifically because of their specialized nature.

Again, if you want to play fighting games it’s easy to buy a fighting game controller that’s more suited to the genre than a standard pad ever could be. If you want to play FPS games, a standard pad will never be ideal for them anyway, conceived as they are for a completely different control scheme, so there might as well be a specialized controller to better facilitate them.

I mean, hell. Ikari Warriors wasn’t even designed with two joysticks in mind; it had a rotary stick, the purpose of which was to allow strafing. A more accurate compromise there is using a shoulder button for strafe-lock. Chu-Chu Rocket’s control scheme was a compromise to start with; the game would be better suited to something like a stylus or a mouse interface.

Beyond the stylus, the DS also has the internet thing going — making for an even more ideal Chu-Chu platform.

Which kind of illustrates the point that not every game is suitable for every platform, and no single input device can account for every special demand. There will always be a compromise, and the question is as to where to draw that line.

What you’re asking for is an all-in-one device that accounts poorly for every possible variable, and not only will that never be entirely satisfactory on its own right; it’s also the wrong approach to a deeper problem. By this logic, what else should the average controller include? Should it rattle when you shake it, to make Samba De Amigo more feasible? I’m sure if the feature were included, Kojima would find something to do with it. And then of course it would have to be included in every future controller, or else if Kojima’s game were ported to that system it wouldn’t play exactly right!

Just, come on already.

The question is perhaps both easier and more difficult for handhelds. It’s easier if other platforms are available, that offer different potential. It’s harder in that you can’t just switch controllers so easily. Although, actually, I can think of some ways around that as well.

In the case of the GBA, the question is whether two or four buttons are more ideal. In the long run, given how few games even used the triggers for anything of note, having only two face buttons certainly didn’t seem to hurt it too much, or to constrain too many developers. Would the extra two buttons have done any harm? Well, from what we’ve seen it doesn’t look like they’d have done much good. And, you know, omit needless buttons. Complication for the sake of complication does little save muddy the water.

The four buttons work as a concession on the DS because the main focus is on the touchscreen. The oversupply of buttons helps to balance that off and encourage pedantic gamer-types just as the touchscreen draws in non-gamers. The GBA doesn’t have a mitigating factor, so there the buttons would just be buttons.

Right, like anyone would get confused or put off by two extra buttons.

See, the problem here is that you’re a gamer.

Worlds Are Colliding!: The Convergence of Film and Games

  • Reading time:1 mins read

by [name redacted]

This year’s final IGDA San Francisco/Bay Area Chapter meeting – held Tuesday, the sixth of December at the Sony Metreon’s Action Theater in San Francisco – featured three representatives from Industrial Light + Magic and two from LucasArts. The assembled personages spent an hour discussing how, thanks to their new joint facility in San Francisco’s Presidio district, they can share resources more easily than before.

( Continue reading at GamaSutra )

The Method

  • Reading time:5 mins read

So.

* Zelda 1 and 2.
* Dragon Quest in general.
* Riven.
* Shadow of the Colossus.
* Metroid II.
* Half-Life 2.
* Phantasy Star II.
* Metal Gear Solid 3, in particular.
* Lost in Blue.
* OutRun.

There is a common thread to all of these. It has to do with the gameworld, and the player’s method of interaction with it.

Stacking boxes to make your own path or eating the parrot in Half-Life and Metal Gear are the same as the magic wand in Zelda 1 or the structures in Wanda that serve no apparent purpose except to look at them, climb on them, stand on them, ponder about them. Building a spear in Lost in Blue is the same as gaining that level or buying that copper sword in Dragon Warrior, as finding a heart container or a boomerang in Zelda, as making that leap of logic in Riven, about that device halfway across the island.

The technique names in Phantasy Star are the same as the number system in Riven, as the clues in Zelda, as the Erdrick lore is in Dragon Warrior, as the artifacts are in Lost in Blue. And these are the same as the boxes and the parrot and the spear and the boomerang.

These are all different approaches toward the same, or similar, ideals. Player progression relies on personal growth and curiosity. Within its own laws, the gameworld is responsive to nearly all actions allowed the player. There is a strong focus on trial and error. On exploration on both the micro and macro levels. On pushing the limits of the gameworld to see what happens, and maybe being punished half the time. On intuitive leaps of reasoning, within the given laws. On patience. On innate appreciation of the intangible within a greater scheme.

The laws and structure of the gameworld are a framework filled with an open question. Rote progression is never a problem, and yet the purpose never particularly lies in the plot. Or in completion. Any story, any imposed goals are simply excuses. MacGuffins. They’re there to get you out the door. To give you an anchor, a point of reference. Maybe a path to walk down. The real joy, the really important material, comes in the unimportant treasures of providence provided by the player’s presence in the gameworld, by interfering as an outsider in a self-contained system.

The player, as Link in the first Zelda in particular, is not particularly meant to traverse Hyrule. He has no weapon. He has no defense. He has no health. There is no path specifically laid out for him, and yet there is a certain logic to be exploited — inconsistently, though consistently enough. At no point does the game call for the boomerang, or the wand. The game can probably be beaten without the sword, if the player is so inclined. Yet the tools are there to be made use of.

The world of Riven is alien to the player, and presents a barrier at every turn — and yet there is a logic behind it all; a reason why everything is where and as it is. As an outsider this lack of familiarity is an initial barrier. Later that same outside perspective and status puts the player in a rarified position. The simple joys of Riven come again from a whimsical turn of that same relationship with the gameworld — from sitting on a sun-baked stone stairwell, listening to the birds and the insects and the surf below. Imagining the coolness of the shadows and the moss on the stones. Appreciating what would go unappreciated were the player to belong here. Finding one’s own treasure in a broader system.

And yet none of these games are wholly open. Unlike Morrowind or Fallout or Baldur’s Gate, there is a clear and immediate structure. There is a limit to the options available to the player. The rules and the logic of the worlds are all simple and compact. There are only so many actions. There are only so many items. There are only so wide a world, so many levels, so many set pieces, so much of a variance in direction. There is a specific ultimate task before the player, a specific direction to move in. Save the princess. Learn about these Biomonsters. Figure out what’s going on in this world. Defeat the Metroids. Survive and maybe escape. Defeat the Colossi.

The secret to success in all cases is in understanding the reasoning of the gameworld, and the method of understanding — as in life — is experimentation. It is in the quirks, the exceptions, the trivialities — that with no clear explanation — that the searching mind finds the most wonder and curiosity. And it is in these quirks that such a mind imbues the most meaning, specifically for their lack of meaning, their lack of purpose. Their lack of structure, and all it implies about the gameworld and the player’s presence within it.

It is in these imperfections that we find beauty and we find reality. In which humanity and therefore something we identify as truth shows itself. In which we see hints of a structure or a randomness beyond our comprehension, that is greater than us, that is greater than our mission and yet that leads us to our fate. It is here that we find significance, that we find meaning, that we find verification for our continued efforts.

It is this which drives us on.

Yes, videogames are toys.

  • Reading time:6 mins read

I don’t think anyone’s saying that there isn’t human potential to videogames. It’s just that they aren’t really living up to that potential yet. Even in the best cases. Give ’em a couple of decades.

Ebert hasn’t spent much time with them. He hasn’t really thought about them. Freeman’s basically on mark in saying the problem is, we don’t really have the vocabulary down.

I responded to Ebert, telling him that although he was essentially right as far as he went with his argument, he was a little off base in what he was using to judge. He says the main problem with videogames is that they ask for user input, so there isn’t any “authorial control” to them. Well, sure there is. The control is, as with film or novels, in the rules that the fictional world goes by. The difference is really just in what the different media study.

Film is about the juxtaposition of imagery over time, and what that can do to us. Videogames are about cause and effect, and what that ultimately can do to us.

The reason most videogames are kind of trivial right now is that few games really bother with the idea of consequences. I don’t even necessarily mean within the gameworld itself, although in some cases that could be a good step. I just mean emotional consequences. Given that almost all videogames are based on physical violence, you can see how they’re a little hard to take seriously.

This is the problem with the whole “videogames are supposed to be fun!” argument. Not really. Videogames are supposed to elicit some kind of emotion in the player. It’s the quality of that emotion which the medium and indeed the game must be judged on. That, and the elegance with which the emotion is elicited.

This is not to imply that every videogame must be “serious” — meaning Important or Dark or Thoughtful or Artsy or what-have-you. Or that most should be. Or that any should be, really. I still can’t bring myself to play killer7 because the beginning annoyed me so much. I’m just saying that they should try to be a little more human, is all.

Ideally, every videogame offers us a unique perspective of the Way Things Are. The way life works. What the rules are, what the possibilities are.

Are there any videogames out there that revolve around the bizarre way rules work when you’re a child? I don’t mean the invisible walls that don’t let you explore that part of a level just “because I said so”. I mean all of the little lies and half-truths and simplifications that are handed to us, either to get us to obey or to shut up or to mask that our parents don’t really know the answer — or just to toy with us. What about a game that explores that world, and the fear that comes along with potentially violating a rule by accident. The fear that comes with being called in that certain tone of voice, even if you don’t remember doing anything bad.

There are so many interesting things to explore. Instead we’re mostly just collecting trinkets and shooting things. See something, shoot it, get points. Cause and effect. We’ve still yet to progress past Space Invaders.

I guess maybe the reason I like older games so much, especially things like scrolling shooters and fighting games, is how honest they are. Somewhere in the last fifteen years, between the RPG explosion and the SNES and 3D and full-motion video, things have gotten kind of distracted. There’s this idea that videogames are better than they ever have been, that because people have (in some cases) learned how to put together the old pieces rather more competently than before, we’re at the heights of the craft and the art of game design. It’s all inbred bullshit. A group hug about how great Videogames are for their own sake. It’s a lie, like William Gibson’s computer-generated pop stars. Or like pop music as a genre and an industry, really.

Everyone’s been so busy looking down that something’s gotten lost and no one’s much noticed: the justification for any of this shit being here to begin with. Why are we doing this? Why are we playing videogames? Why are they being made? The only answer is that it’s because they’re videogames!

…

Now. This is real, and it’s a real problem. Most people just don’t have a name for it yet. They don’t know how to describe it. The industry’s getting restless. People are always complaining about sequels and about EA and about lack of good IP. Japan’s gaming industry has been imploding for a while. People keep predicting crashes. People keep talking about how jaded they’re getting, and about how much better videogames used to be. To shrug off any of that, no matter how much you might be thrilled with things as they are now, is pretty hard to excuse.

For all the talk about how healthy the industry is, how much money it’s making, as a percentage of the population videogames have exactly the same market saturation they did twenty years ago, during the NES era. There’s just more on the market, and the people who buy videogames are getting older and buying more. New people aren’t really playing videogames. And if they are, they’re doing it at about the same rate as existing players grow disillusioned.

…

If modern videogames tend to take the player for granted, I guess it’s because they take videogames for granted. Everyone does, really. Videogames are videogames. They’re Mario and Pokemon and Grand Theft Auto and everything we’ve ever seen. That’s all kind of poisonous. It’s best we just put it out of our heads. Those are examples of what has been done with videogames. Most of them are very well-done, for what they are. They’re just sketches, though. Videogames can be so much more interesting. So much more relevant. To see how, don’t look at videogames; look into yourself. Look at your life. Look around your town. Look at the news. Society. Look at why you like anything. Look at what makes Catch-22 such a great work and not just a funny story about World War II.

For those of you have attained enlightenment from widget-gathering, feel free to ignore this whole argument.

Xbox 360 Launch Analysis

  • Reading time:9 mins read

by [name redacted]

Originally published in some form by Next Generation. Doesn’t seem to be up anymore, and I don’t remember if anything was changed.

Xbox marketing chief Peter Moore has done his job well enough, declaring the 360 launch catalog the “best lineup in history”. Of course, most people see through at least this level of hubris. Just for fun, though, let’s take a stroll through the lineup and see just how it adds together.

A quick glance will show four main categories of software: new games actually developed with the hardware in mind; pared-down PC ports; spruced-up console ports; and the prettiest versions of this year’s disposable sports games.

Manos: The Hands of Fate

  • Reading time:9 mins read

by [name redacted]

Originally published by Next Generation, under a title that I no longer remember.

Generally speaking, the controller sold with a console can be read as a microcosm of the console itself. (You might call it a rule of thumb – though I would not advise this.) That the Odyssey2 came with a right-handed stick and a single button for the left hand tells you that its games are simple, that movement is the central mechanism, and that if there is any secondary function its importance is minimal. That the NES replaces this template with a cross-shaped D-pad for the left thumb and two buttons for the right, labeled from the outside of the controller in the order that your hand meets them, says mountains of Nintendo’s idea of videogames, circa 1985.

They Call Me Boldric

  • Reading time:2 mins read

I notice again that Dragon Quest VIII could easily be played on the Revolution. It’s actually mapped so 90% of the time you can just hold the Dual Shock in your left hand. Stick moves; L2 centers the camera; L3 is a dupe of the “action” button. The only major functions missing are for entering the menu or looking at the map, both of which are so minor they might as well be mapped to another button somewhere out of the way.

Something else I notice is that automating your party makes the battles play as in Phantasy Star II. This is preferable, I think — especially if you have a boomerang equipped. Which… furthers the Phantasy Star comparison, really.

What Dragon Quest is not, in any of its incarnations, I notice, is a game a normal person can watch and be entertained by. They’re very personal, introverted games. I think turning the battles into Phantasy Star battles actually aids this, for me. I’m not telling everyone what to do; I’m just doing my own thing, and this guy who happens to be with me, follows my lead.

Every fifteen minutes, my girlfriend asks me if I’m really having fun playing the game. Yes, actually. She kept asking me the same thing when I was playing Dragon Warrior 1 on the Game Boy Player a while ago. And yes, actually. I was having fun then, too. In my own special way. Which might not be “fun” in the objective sense; then, what is?

I just want to see how far I can get today, before I’m forced to turn back.

This Week’s Releases (Oct 31-Nov 4, 2005)

  • Reading time:17 mins read

by [name redacted]

Week seventeen of my ongoing, irreverent news column; originally posted at Next Generation

Monday, October 31st

Star Wars: Battlefront II
PSP/Xbox/PS2/PC
Pandemic Studios/LucasArts

I recall a day when LucasArts had something to show for itself aside from Star Wars. For the record, I have never been fond of Star Wars. And from the perspective of someone who is not particularly impressed with the ability to play as Yoda in a duel versus Darth Vader, it is exceedingly difficult to find useful information on this game. After twenty minutes of research I can’t even tell what genre it is, although people keep talking about a new “space battle” mode.

IGN spends three pages comparing the game to its predecessor and going into specific detail about exactly what every character in the game is able to do. GameSpy is able to tell me that the original Battlefront was the best-selling Star Wars game ever, which tells me exactly nothing, actually. The site does talk about “capture the flag” mode, which suggests to me this is a first-person shooter. It then goes into detail about all the mega-cool things the writer was able to do in the game. Finally, GameSpot tells me right up front that this is “an online multiplayer [first/third-person] shooter with new levels and reworked AI”. So there we are.

I think this exercise probably says more about the game and its market than anything I could add.

I OBEY

  • Reading time:2 mins read

I have been requested of more Dalek footage (as referenced here). Far be it for me to overlook a chance to show off.



The colors are deeper now, and more in line with the New Series Daleks. I don’t know if it’s obvious from here.

As before, this fellow is a product of Graffiti Kingdom. I’ve now beaten the game; it’s short, and intentionally easy. There’s a lot more that could have been done, in the end; I kept waiting for a few tools that never presented themselves, like the ability to rotate and move pieces you’ve already drawn, or to define a “body” element, or to set multiple attachment points. Or to set individual portions of arms and legs. Or light-up or “hover” pieces. There’s a lot of overlap, and not much organization. The versus mode is a wasted opportunity, too.

Still, it’s pretty neat for what it is; these are all just details. If someone’s paying attention, a DS sequel could be one of the niftiest games around. Come to think of it, maybe the map drawing feature I proposed earlier would work even better if the levels were 2D. That would bring this game even closer to Cocoron. And that could hardly be bad!

Fingers

  • Reading time:6 mins read

Despite the propoganda you may have read, the Xbox 360 has one of the least comfortable controllers I’ve held. It tries to be ergonomic, and is molded to hands that aren’t my shape. My knuckles bang. My fingers are cramped. Of course, my hands are irregular. And I hate every ergonomic input device I’ve ever encountered. This is like the split keyboard of game controllers.

For those unfamiliar with the changes, the 360 controller is basically a remolded Controller-S with the “white” and “black” buttons moved to the shoulders and turned into triggers, with a big “ON” button in the center, and (usually) without a cord. I’m not even going to get into the cordless issue, as far as typical controllers go; this is just about the corded version.

Now. Controllers are probably one of the major things holding back videogames. I hate them, as a whole. You’d think, with controllers being the most direct interface people have with videogames, people would put more thought into their design. There aren’t any good standard controllers right now; the GameCube one is clever, though it has too many compromises to do what it really wants to. And I can’t even think of many positive examples, historically. The only “good” ones I come up with are simply practical and competent, like the Genesis six-button and the (Japanese/version 2) Saturn pad. The S more or less falls into this category. Unambitious, but solid and distinctive.

As for the next generation, well. The Revolution should be interesting, at least. Other than that, ick. You can trace the mentality behind the systems by looking at their interfaces. Sony’s desperately trying to make the PS3 seem different, but not too different, by making the controller exactly the same except shaped like a batarang.

Similarly, Microsoft has decided to take the Controller-S and mangle it without any particular direction. The “on” button is… sort of interesting, I guess. It feels misplaced on a traditional controller. The thing that distinctly bothers me, though, if it’s possible to get over the ergonomic issues, is the button arrangement.

The white and black buttons (and indeed the start and select ones) get a lot of flack for their uncommon placement on the S. People aren’t really thinking this through, though. They do work, and work well, because they’re used for uncommon functions and because they’re placed in an out-of-the-way corner of the pad. If you need to access them, they’re at hand; yet otherwise there’s no confusing them.*

Anyway. Shoulder buttons are primarily useful for state changes; things you need to hold down while you access the face buttons. Four shoulder buttons is overkill in this regard. I see no purpose for them, especially since I have yet to encounter a person who is not constantly pressing the wrong shoulder button in PS2 games. (Notice this! Did a bell not ring?) They’re hidden, too similar, and secondary in your attention, and therefore easy to confuse.

Iif those extra two triggers are used at all, they’re usually for toggle functions or other things more suited to an out-of-the-way face button, like “select” in NES and SNES games. So, you know. In most cases, that’s the wrong place for them. Leave the shoulders uncluttered for things that actually need the placement.

Since removing the face buttons unbalances the start and select (OOPS, I MEAN “BACK”) buttons, they’ve been moved to the center where, whoops, suddenly they’re ripe to be hit accidentally again — never a problem on the S. Yes indeed.

The other thing that bothers me is, the original Xbox isn’t that bad a system. Yes, it’s big, not too imaginative, and it’s too firmly positioned as the tits-and-beer console. It’s really well-made, though, and there are some good ideas in its device and execution. And for a while, Microsoft was doing a good job patching the holes (fixing the controller, starting up Live). There was real potential for the 360 to be its own beast, and use past success as a foundation for something neat, as far as mainstream consoles go. Something with personality, and with balls (to go with its testosterone).

What we’re ending up with is a timid, sterile system designed by focus testing. And the pad’s an example of that.

I don’t think I need to explain how much Sony’s controllers now and have always sucked. And yet the PlayStation line is one of the biggest commercial successes in the history of videogames — so clearly Sony must know what’s going on! They’ve got four shoulder buttons on their pad, so let’s put four on ours! We didn’t really know what to do with those face buttons anyway.

Again, nobody’s thinking. The only reason there are four triggers on the PS2 pad is because the PS2 pad is the same as the Dual Shock, which is the same as the original PlayStation pad except with two analog sticks. Why two sticks? Because the N64 only had one. Likewse, the original PlayStation pad is the same as the SNES pad except with four shoulder buttons. Why four? Because the SNES pad only had two!

And now Microsoft has crawled up and inherited this idiocy, just showing how desperate they are. They’ve lost whatever vision they had; all of the creative people behind the original Xbox are long gone, leaving Microsoft with a body and no brain. All they have to go on now is high-definition displays and removable faceplates. Just — fuck you, you know. If you’re going to waste our time, then go away. Leave videogames to the professionals.

*: I understand some people hit the one on the left accidentally. This puzzles me a little. Perhaps again it’s just my hand shape; it’s never been an issue for me. However, even should my thumb somehow stray, that they are a different size, feel different, and are sunken into the pad should send me a signal. Fundamentally, I just see no reason why my thum should stray down and to the right from its “home position” on the bottom point of the diamond.