We All Fall Down

“‘Chicken-chaser’? Does that mean you… chase chickens?”

  • Reading time:2 mins read

I just got Fable.

Why the fuck is there a top-level menu item to watch commercials for other, unrelated games published by Microsoft? I mean. Could they not have used that disc space for something more constructive?

I feel slightly dirty for having witnessed this.

EDIT:

I actually am enjoying the hell out of this, even if it’s not what I expected. It’s not even close. I was waiting for a cross between Shenmue and Morrowind. That sounded like the original concept for the game, anyway. Now it’s more like the offspring of Zelda and The Sims.

It sure ain’t the revolutionary leap it was touted as. It has a lot of charm, though. Even if the save system is bothersome, and I CAN’T GET THE DAMNED GOD-VOICE TO SHUT UP.

If the game were to just leave me alone and let me do my own thing without badgering me like, uh, any recent version of Zelda, I would have little problem with it. From what I’ve seen. Even its dumb videogamey qualities (the chests littered around the game world) seem on some level deliberate. If the game were to take itself seriously, I might not feel the same way. The tone is just what’s needed, though, to make it work in the form it is.

…

This evening, as I was pouring virtual beer into a virtual barmaid, in real life a terror-soaked voice echoed from down the street: “HELP! OH GOD, HELP! CALL THE POLICE! SOMEBODY! HELP ME PLEASE! SAVE ME! OH GOD! POLICE!” And. So on.

This was followed by another voice: “What the FUCK‘s your problem, huh?” And a smacking sound.

Then. Nothing.

Several minutes later, we heard a series of loud noises. Noises I have trouble finding words for. They sounded like the midway between a buzz-saw and someone sucking ice cream through a straw.

I don’t know what connection, if any, exists between the above events.

EDIT 2:

I just realized why the music so made me think of Danny Elfman — to the point where I was constantly tempted to mutter “something’s up with Jack/something’s up with Jack…”.

It’s because the music is written by Danny Elfman.

I, uh, had forgotten that.

Chilled Pain

  • Reading time:2 mins read

Where did Henry’s bottle of white wine go?

It vanished around the time I picked up the rusty axe.

I… never even got a chance to use it. I was saving it for a special occasion.

I notice that, contrary to expectation, I actually don’t mind the “item box” mechanism in this game. It makes sense, within the game’s format. Every hole you encounter is akin to a save point; it’s just that when you warp back to your room to save, you have other tasks to attend to; things to check on, things to put into and take out of the chest, things to reference. It’s a bit of a vacation, both for Henry and for the player. Much as how in Morrowind I dump all of the tools I know I won’t need for my upcoming task into some corner of my stolen house, if I know I don’t need three golf clubs and several clips of ammo, and I figure I won’t need all of these puzzle panels anytime soon, I can just dump them in the room and cut down on the clutter; free them from my mind.

This stands in contrast to the previous games, where the player is forced to continually carry a huge inventory of random objects, wondering when the game will demand they be put to use. It somehow feels more organic this way. Especially since, hell, you’ve got the room there to hold your crap. It’s like your own pocket dimension. Why not use it to your advantage, instead of lugging everything with you?

I also enjoy the logic of the game’s puzzles, so far. They’re kind of contrived, yes. Yet they rely entirely on the logic of what has already been established. And again, they help to tie the Room into the game as a more advanced concept than as just a save point.

I. Was going to say something else. I can’t remember. (EDIT: It was that the game is structured such that the player doesn’t really need to juggle items, to keep everything in inventory that he wants or needs. There’s no inventory management. The mechanic is more a convenience than anything.)

The game has been referencing Rear Window continually. However, Henry just now began to notice the parallel himself. This strikes me as terrific.

Roomination

  • Reading time:4 mins read

My reluctance to throw things away — my propensity to collect: it has to do with evidence. Evidence to whom; to myself? Evidence of the links between the world within me and that without. Evidence that the things I know of did, at least once, exist. Once those physical tokens are gone, there is no more certainty. I can’t be sure of anything anymore.

I have played the first hour of Silent Hill 4: The Room. Yes, it arrived today (alongside Plan 9 From Outer Space and Glen or Glenda); I am not allowed to play much further until all accountable women have returned to roost.

Nevertheless. The game is supposed to have been principally inspired by Being John Malkovich. That is quickly obvious, now that I have the chance to inspect it more well than before. This knowledge also offers some possible, if incomplete, clues regarding just what’s happening in the game.

Before the opening credits disseminate (another addition to the series, and not an unwelcome one), the game provides a short introduction in the first-person perspective that will later be common to scenes transpiring in The Room in question. In this sequence, however, the room is different: bloodied, rusted over, dirty, abandoned-looking; it resembles the “dark world” from the earlier Silent Hill games. Henry, the main character, is understandably surprised — or, should I say, alarmed. He does not seem to recognize anything. He also, I noticed, fails to cast a reflection in the picture frames scattered around his apartment — frames which reflect everything else around him. I pinpointed this as intentional, especially given that only minutes later, once the credits play and Henry wakes up again in a “normal” version of his bedroom, he no longer seems at all confused by the room’s (clean, yet otherwise mostly-identical) furnishings.

Henry still does not have a reflection, however. In cutscenes, he does; just not in the game proper.

So. Never mind that.

The people on the street outside the window walk like robots. Most of them wear the exact same clothes, and walk in synchronization. A polygonal edge to the hole behind the cabinet flickers into and out of existence as the camera rotates past it. The effect is hard to ignore, given the size of the area in question, its prominent location, and how important this hole is supposed to be.

The soundtrack comes on a separate disc, in a little paper sleeve. Luckily, it does slide easily into the game case. Still, considering that the previous game in the series made space for its soundtrack by default, this all could have been a little prettier.

Although I yet again am not allowed to remap the controls at will, at least the default scheme works for me. For some reason, as minor as the changes were from the previous games, I had real problems playing Silent Hill 3 with any of its predesigned setups. Everything felt like it was in the wrong place; it made me feel a little ill, even. Strange, the psychological effect of control design. I wonder if it could be put to real use, rather than ignored or made as invisible (or as “realistic”) as possible, as are the current strategies.

There’s… something here. Maybe.

Tonally, the game reminds me more of Silent Hill 2 than of the other two. This is not a bad thing. Perhaps it is an intentional thing, even. It also feels tangibly different — more like a mystery than a horror story — and is so far intriguing in that.

EDIT: Naoto Ohshima is involved again, as a camera programmer. I noticed his name flash by in the credits to the first Silent Hill, I believe as some kind of graphics programmer; did he do anything in the middle two games?

Artoon is owned by Konami now, yes? Or involved with them somehow?

EDIT 2: And I like the way the camera works. Mostly. I don’t think I’ve seen quite this technique before.

KOF: Maximum Impact (PS2/SNK Playmore)

  • Reading time:1 mins read

by tim rogers [don’t capitalize my name, please]
red text by [name redacted]
green text by tim rogers
teal text by [name redacted]

Yeah… I don’t know what happened here.

King of Fighters was a union of Fatal Fury and Art of Fighting; there were other characters from other places, to be sure, and there were plenty of new ones. [Here, you cut out my explanation that in KOF: Maximum Impact, Geese Howard is running for President of the United States. There are political posters and everything.] [Yeah, I liked that part. You took too long to get to the following sentence, though.] The first thing King of Fighters did right was remove the damn stupid plane-switching and the god-forsaken nausea-inducing zooming. This spirit has carried the series into the present with a vigor that only fans previously known as “hardcore” could appreciate: each new game in the series subtracts one unnecessary formerly-experimental element for each new feature it adds. [clue 1b]

( Continue reading at Insert Credit )

Geneology

  • Reading time:1 mins read

After the establishment of Rosa, the Duck annals have begun to resemble Tolkien. A prurient quote from Rosa:

What Dell licensed from the Disney corporation was the name Donald Duck. [At that time,] Donald was […] actually like an actor. He was a different character in each cartoon. A comic book has to be based on an actual character with a history. So Carl Barks took the name Donald Duck and created a… well, a character, that didn’t even look exactly like the Disney Donald Duck. […] But, he created an entire history around this duck; a family, Uncle $crooge, Duckburg, Gladstone Gander, etc. These were all creations of Carl Barks. This is the universe that all the other duck writers and artists based their stories on.

And now Rosa, with his nerdlike extrapolative tendencies, has become the new standard. And it’s getting a little insane. (In the best way.)

I really need to read those last dozen or so Rosa stories. I’ve not seen any of his work since toward the end of the second Gladstone era. I tried to subscribe to Gemstone’s new Scrooge book. Their site rejected my propositions, however. I will try again later.

Passing the message

  • Reading time:1 mins read

I just wrote the following on the rear of a five-dollar bill. The modern kind, you know, with all the white space.

When I was little
I knew a woman
who would give me
candy fish from a jar.
Her name was Helen.
She owned a fruit store
on main street.
Her voice had a rasp.
Her lip had a mustache.
When she gave change,
she did the math out
on a notepad
on the counter,
one step at a time.
She itemized each item.
She mouthed its name.
She looked to me
for affirmation.
I stared back.
Helen is dead now.
Her store is gone.
I still enjoy candy fish.

Dragon Warier

  • Reading time:4 mins read

There is something strange about the renaming of Dragonquest, in the West. Linguistically, the two titles imply different concepts. (That much is clear; if they didn’t, then the game would never have been renamed.) The word “Quest” denotes a search. It is somewhat more ambiguous, and uncertain. There is no guarantee of the direction or of success, in a quest. It is, in effect, a venture into the unknown. With luck, some fruit might come of it. The word “Warrior” conjures an image of a large man with a codpiece, bashing something’s head in with a big stick.

In this case, the former is more appropriate a title in that the game is basically about the quest; about its purpose. It is a template, more or less, for the execution of an extended search as the body of a videogame. That is why it exists. The western title, however, implies a focus on character that isn’t present in the game. Who is this “Dragon Warrior”? The hero? Erdrick/Loto? Dragonlord/Dracolord? None of the above, I say. Though the intention, I venture, is to pretend that the hero, thereby the player, plays the role of this “warrior”. It is not enough to suggest that the player is to be sent on a quest, and for any function and role to come as a result of the actions required by this goal; it appears that the Western player must feel important. He must feel that the world revolves around him, as it might an epic hero. Or at least, that’s what Nintendo figured when they localized the game.

I’m not saying that this is a correct or an incorrect set of assumptions about the cultural biases of one territory against the next. I just find it interesting that someone clearly thought that there was a significant enough a disparity to account for it.

Perhaps, rather than it being a cultural issue wholly, it is more of a Nintendo issue. You recall what I have been saying for a while about Super Mario Bros. and what the game did, in effect, to the popular conceptions of game design and focus. Maybe this just follows the shift from concept to character.

I wonder whether the change in title had any effect. I’d like to think that some people would be frustrated when faced with a game which seemed to purport a focus upon character, and was really more about a melancholy search, and all the travails necessitated in the process. The level-chugging and growth does serve a purpose here, to illustrate just how hard this particular quest is; how much work and trial and error is required, just to set a couple of things right. It’s kind of bleak, yet educational. And it’s filled with moments of whimsy.

It’s not about any person. It’s bigger than that in a sense. In another sense, it’s just not concerned with individuals. It’s a concept game.

Had the game been labeled more well, would it have done better over here? Would it have done worse?

What about now? Were Squenix to release DQ8 as “Dragon Quest VIII” over here, rather than bow to Nintendo’s convention, would it make a difference? Would people get it?

It might be time to give it a chance. Heck, Castlevania is called “Castlevania” in Japan now, rather than “Akumajou Dracula”. There’s precedent. And it’s not like too many people here would be confused. Foew who are not already fond of Dragon Warrior would be confused by the change, as they probably have barely heard of the series, despite its influence — and I think most of the existing fanbase would welcome it.

Or. Perhaps not.

EDIT: See comments.

Ishmael

  • Reading time:1 mins read

by [name redacted]

I can’t remember his name, so I will call him Ishmael.

It was hard to avoid Ishmael, as he was in most of my classes. Some of those classes consisted of little but heated debate between the two of us, as the other students sat dumbfounded and the teachers hid under their desks. Still, as little common ground as we shared, at least Ishmael was a worthy adversary.

( Continue reading at Insert Credit )

Thunderstorm hovercrafts

  • Reading time:2 mins read

F-Zero GX does, indeed, go fast.

…

I enjoy this, lots. This game has spirit.

The original F-Zero never caught me. It struck me as little more than a glittery tech demo for the totally amazing Mode-7 capabilities of the SNES. Then, I had that problem with a lot of SNES releases.

This is clearly a real game.

* *

It occurs to me that there could be a less-deep reason for the whole Kobe/Igarashi twist in the Castlevania series. Igarashi, of course, includes Kobe’s games in his revised timeline. (He also omits Dark Night Prelude, or “Castlevania Legends”, as it’s called here, for even murkier purposes.) The obvious rationale is that these games generally aren’t all that good (save Circle of the Moon, which is fun and well-made for what it is), and that they kind of ruin the storyline that Igarashi had been putting together.

A less-obvious and less-inspiring possibility lies in something that I learned from someone at Konami a few days ago. It seems that every development studio has independent rights to the games it produces. Even for as self-referential a company as Konami, it seems that the different studios have to be careful not to reference each other’s games without permission, for legal reasons. So KCE Tyo can inwardly reference anything it wants (Castlevania, Contra, Gradius, and so on) — but it can’t mention games made by, say, KCEJ (Kojima), without reason. And vice-versa. And all around.

So.

Hmm…

VROOM VROOM

  • Reading time:3 mins read

I picked up the GBC remake of the SFC remake of Dragon Warrior 1 & 2.

Gosh, the changes are nice.

Gosh, the game is easy now.

Really. I’m not sure what’s up with that. The game used to have the same syndrome as The Legend of Zelda and the first couple of Phantasy Stars, whereby the player was fenced in by impossible odds. Now one is more or less free to stroll at will. Money and experience are everywhere. Red slimes take one hit to kill at level one, where they take several in the original version. Or I seem to recall so, anyway. Not sure what to make of this quality.

However. Everything else is strangely just-right, in its tone and sensibility. I don’t recall much actual story in the original game. I don’t remember the townspeople saying much. Now they’re all miserable and scared and angry, and have halfway-interesting things to say about their own lives and problems. It’s all kind of bleak, yet strangely perfect. Then there are all of the little additions like the girl who finds the hero attractive and follows him around town for no other reason, which well illustrate the heart behind the game.

I thought I’d played this remake before. I don’t remember any of what I see, though.

This is nice.

I got it for eight dollars.

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington sure ends abruptly. I haven’t seen a Capra movie since I was aware enough to appreciate one. Looks like I need to go back and take another look at It’s a Wonderful Life and It Happened One Night. Again with the little details, which give the piece life — the expressions and reactions of even the minor characters or the extras.

The Trouble With Harry is gorgeous; it’s one of the few pictures that Hitchcock mostly filmed on location, and it shows. It also shows when the movie jumps to a set, although not as disconcertingly as in, say, The Birds. The cinematography is brilliant. The script is interesting. Herrman’s score — his first, for a Hitchcock picture — is above-average for him. The wardrobe, with its light New England jackets and autumn gear, feels as real and refreshing as the scenery. The acting, save Shirley MacLaine, is terrible.

The script, although interesting, demands a certain degree of shrewdness in its players. It doesn’t work on its own. In the right hands, it could seem like genius. Here, it deflates into so much awkward air. A shame. A shame in general. Maybe it would have been better as a silent film.

On that note, I am almost convinced that the Coens intended Barton Fink to be in Black and White. Just look at the choices in cinematography. The use of light and dark. Then turn down the color dial on your TV. Suddenly, the movie commands about twice the power it did a moment before. there is so much less distraction. The nightmare logic all makes sense. Where before you might furrow your brow and wonder what just happened, now you accept without question. Maybe even nod.

It’s still a perplexing movie. I think I might like it. I’m not sure. I think I have to watch it a few more times. I’m not sure if I want to. I think I might.

So.

THE RETURN OF FRED?!

  • Reading time:7 mins read

Today was a nice day. I went for a walk. Although I did not intend to go that way, I once again found myself in the Electronics Botique a few blocks away. I had no reason to stop there. I am not at much liberty to squander money, at the moment. I saw little to draw me back, the last time I was in the store. Yet there I was, somehow. And the “old platforms bin”, absent entirely a few days ago, was returned.

Some of the games in it weren’t even all that bad. Mixed amongst the old sports and wrestling and licensed games, I saw almost-pristine copes of Fear Effect, both 1 and 2. Two near-mint copies of MGS. A curious PlayStation-era update to Galaga. And. Blaster Master: Blasting Again.

…

For $2.99.

…

Let’s explain, shall we.

This is one of the rarest Playstation games around. Only a few thousand copies were pressed, as far as I know. It was Sunsoft’s final game before the US branch of the company went under and the Japan branch disappeared into obscurity. From what I understand, the game was mostly produced due to incessant requests from North American fans of the original Blaster Master (much as with the contemporary Metroid resurgence) — so this was the game’s primary market.

It’s not like the game is impossible to find, or all that valuable; the demand is low, since not many people are even aware that the game exists. It got no publicity at all. Anyone who didn’t know that the game was in development probably missed it altogether. Many who were waiting for it (I included) probably didn’t realize it had been released until some while later. I was surprised that it had come out at all. I mean, it barely did.

So. Incredibly obscure game; direct sequel to a game generally considered one of the best ever made for the NES (and one of my personal favorites); $2.99.

So why, besides the obvious, was the game was so inexpensive? Yes, it was used. Closer inspection, however, revealed it as about the most used used game I had ever seen. At least, on the surface. The case seemed like it had been dropped in a bathtub. The manual and traycard were all warped and crinkly.I opened the instruction manual; the pages were all stuck together and torn. The gloss on the traycard was effectively glued to the plastic of the jewel case, meaning it could not be removed without tearing the hell out of the card.

Still. $2.99. Blaster Master. Rare.

So, all right. I took it home, and I replaced all of the elements of the jewel case save the bottom half of the tray. It doesn’t really look all that bad.

The disc itself is more or less pristine. So I put it in the drive.

Now. You know how after you spend years pining after that elusive obscure game, you usually realize there is a reason why the game was so obscure to start with? Your dreams are shattered and you become just that more bitter in your outlook toward life?

That ain’t the case here.

Shep had already described it to me in some detail. I can’t recall where he found his copy. I remember that he was fairly positive about it. I am about an hour in. I will be even more positive.

Aside from the typical camera and loading issues (which I will discuss in more detail in a moment), as yet I have no complaints about the game — in design, execution, temperment, tone, focus, or presentation. It is Blaster Master, in 3D. The adaptation is done as well as you can imagine it being done, and is in some ways far better.

While I don’t mean to overhype the game — it’s not going to change the world or anything — the most clear comparison I can make is to Metroid Prime. It’s an obvious one on the surface; the original games were near-identical in overall concept (if the details made them distinct enough to be individually memorable). Both were almost inherently two-dimensional concepts. Both involve exploring subterranian passages. Both were mostly popular in the West. Both were ignored for years by their original creators, probably in large part because, as these things go, they weren’t all that well-received in their own home countries.

And now, the ideas in the reinterpretation for 3D space are often similar — and often successful, for the same reasons in both games. I’m not going to go into the details; it would run too long. Just hold that image. It works for many of the same reasons Prime does.

Had this game received any publicity at all, and had it been produced in larger quantities, I am fairly certain that it could have made Sunsoft close to a household developer again. It’s just a damned good game, for what it is. It has a bunch of heart, and it knows what it’s doing.

The one non-camera-related frustration I have faced involves the game’s structure; unlike the original Blaster Master, which contained rather enormous levels perforated by the occasional screen change, Blasting Again (I’m growing more fond of that name, actually) takes place in a series of small rooms — perhaps the size what you’d see in Phantasy Star Online, although far more elaborate and platformy — connected by doorways. Every time you go through a doorway, you face a loading time of perhaps five to ten seconds. The loading screen itself is almost endearing to the long-time Blaster Master afficianado, as it attempts to channel the “SOPHIA zooming into the screen” image from the introduction of the NES game. The reference is successful (as are most of the other references: visual, musical, mechanical, tonal, conceptual). It’s just, you’ll be seeing about half as much of this screen as you will be seeing actual playtime.

Oh, also. The game is slightly inspired by Ocarina of Time. This has its strong elements. A less-strong one involves the sister of the hero (himself the son of Jason, from the original game). I’m not sure where she’s sitting; I want to think she’s in the guts of SOPHIA (as with the girl sidekick in Meta Fight, the less-bizarre Japanese version of Blaster Master), though that doesn’t seem to be the case. Either way, after an hour of play I am beginning to long for Navi. It doesn’t help in the least that Sister keeps demanding my attention right when I’m in the middle of some touchy action — and that I need to take my finger off the fire button, and find the Start button, to get rid of her. You think Rose has a bad sense of timing? Imagine if she were in Gradius, and ten times as talkative. Yeah. That’s kind of what it’s like.

Oh, right. This game is a little more action-oriented than the original Blaster Master. There is more shooting (and Metroid Prime-style jump-strafing) than platforming. And I have, as yet, found only one save point. It’s okay, though. It all works, so far.

Wow. I should… eat something.

EDIT: Okay. The game doesn’t save my control configuration. This is the level of minor annoyance that plagues the game. Nothing major; just the details which show what the game could have been, had there been more time or money or assistance.

However. This game is the best excuse ever for the “fast load” function of the Playstation 2. Really. As silly as it makes Silent Hill sound — that’s how much irritation it removes from the load times here. To the last, they are minimized to one or two seconds. I can deal with this.

Shin NeoWave

  • Reading time:4 mins read

After flipping past the official site again, I notice that, as a watered-down port of KOF2002 (itself a watered-down rehash of KOF’98), NeoWave is shameless enough to even retain the distinctive ’02 naming scheme for the teams. That is to say, the Iori Team is the “’96 Team” and the Burning Team is the “’99 Team”, and so on.

Now, if this naming scheme was poorly-conceived to begin with, its execution was even more questionable. Iori first appeared in KOF’95, so it feels strange that he is part of a team representing the following game (especially given how many other new characters were introduced in KOF’96). It is even weirder that there are no teams for ’94 or ’95, if the cast is truly supposed to present some kind of a retrospective of the series (itself not entirely a bad idea, for a dream match game — or at least I can see how it might sound like a good one). The rationalization comes from his teammates, Mature and Vice; indeed that specific team concoction first appeared in ’96. Yet something still feels forced here. Similarly, the New Face Team is listed as the “’98 Team” even though they first appeared in ’97. Again, it doesn’t really work.

Of course, now the 2000 and 2001 teams are absent — inexplicably in the former case — making the naming scheme basically meaningless for a game released in 2004. Although one would think that SNK could work out a deal with Eolith, I can understand how they might just not want to bother for a handful of characters SNK will probably rarely have burning need for again. I don’t understand where the 2000 agents went, however. Seth and Vanessa have become fan favorites (especially Vanessa, especially with me), and they are full-blooded SNK characters; among the last ever. So this decision just seems arbitrary. I don’t get it.

In effect, it means that even with the addition of Shingo, King, and Saisyu (all returned to the roster for NeoWave), the game has even fewer characters than the NeoGeo version. Given that NeoWave is SNK’s first game for the Atomiswave platform — a far more advanced system with, compared to what SNK is used to, nigh-unlimited storage and capacity — this is downright pathetic. What are they doing with all that empty canvas?

After some consideration, I have pieced together what I figure SNK and Noise Factory could have easily presented, for a game which in effect is supposed to be a celebration of ten years of The King of Fighters. The following took maybe ten minutes. With the current hardware, they would have all the space necessary, and more. They already have all of the sprites and most of the necessary code prepared. Aside from Eolith, all they would have to worry about is balancing — and in this case, I think some wobbly elements are excusable.

I have tried to keep with the “year” theme present in 2002 and NeoWave, for the purpose of illustration. Let’s see how I do.

Japan Team
Kyo, Benimaru, Daimon

Korea Team
Kim, Chang, Choi

Fatal Fury Team
Terry, Andy, Joe

Art of Fighting Team
Ryo, Robert, Yuri

Ikari Team
Leona, Ralf, Clark

Psycho Soldier Team
Athena, Kensou, Chin

Women’s Team
King, Mai, Mary

Girls Team
Malin, May Lee, Kula

Outlaw Team
Yamazaki, Gato, Lin

Justice Team
Tizoc, Bao, Jhun

’94 Team
Heavy D!, Lucky, Brian

’95 Team
Iori, Billy, Eiji

’96 Team
Geese, Krauser, Mr. Big

’97 Team
Yashiro, Shermie, Chris

’98 Team
Heidern, Takuma, Saisyu

’99 Team
K’, Maxima, Whip

’00 Team
Seth, Vanessa, Ramon

’01 Team
K9999, Angel, Foxy

’02 Team
Goenitz, Mature, Vice

’03 Team
Ash, Duo Lon, Shen Woo

EDIT
Chizuru
Shingo
Krizalid

BONUS
Kasumi, Xiangfei, Hinako

Depending on how you fare, either Chizuru or Shingo is the mid-boss. (Shingo is greatly overpowered in this case.) Again depending on prowess, the final boss is either Krizalid or a team of Kasumi, Xiangfei, and Hinako. The game would have some wacky, obviously non-canonical plot to explain why Shingo and the “filler girls” are such monsters. It would be the same for every team, although — as with ’98 — each team would get its own piece of art at the end.

And. There it is.

Oh well. Maybe in 2014, assuming that SNK is still around in some form, they might feel up to trying again. They might even have time to redraw a few sprites. (Please, no laughter.)

On the role of role

  • Reading time:5 mins read

See. The big advance in FFX, as far as the series goes, is in narrative and all that it relates to. The game system underneath is just the same as always — one that leads you to dissect it in such a way as you do; to think about its characters and overall world in Pokemon terms. Some of the relative sophistication is dulled by holding back and masking the player’s involvement with Game, lowering the relationship between player and character to trainer and racing pony.

That ain’t a healthy relationship. It’s akin to the horce-race coverage of local elections that you will see on the news. The point isn’t who’s ahead, and what numbers they can come up with; the point is the issues at stake, that have a broad or specific effect upon us, upon our world.

What is required here is a whole shift of our frame of reference, of our expectations.

The question is, what specifically or generally might illustrate a place to shift it.

As far as the relationship of a character and his world, I like the image of Shenmue, crossed with the likes of Elder Scrolls or Fable. On a level.

How, then — to take that as-is, for the moment — to integrate this with a game system, game world like those in FFXII? What else would be required? To strip away the mask that numbers and statistics and superimposed gimmicks present, and to put yourself in the position of the characters you control and face, what is missing? This is a subtle question; it deals with psychology more than anything. What do we need, to make our lives meaningful, comfortable, believable? What is real, what is false, on an internal level, and why?

The challenge is to come up with some framework which will allow the player to directly channel whatever the answers might be, without the architecture getting in the way, emotionally. This is not a matter of simply taking away the superficial elements that you happen to enjoy, but to be rid of the very reasons why you would want to prop yourself up with them. I’m pretty sure, were such a thing to exist, you would have no reason to lament the loss of the system; rather, when presented with the alternative, you would be wondering why you had been leaning on it for so long.

Me, I don’t have the answers. I’m just watching.

Thing is: if you go back to the origin of these systems, the pen-and-paper RPG, and you play the game correctly, the stats stand in for abstract or complex ideas: how much damage a person can take before dying, and how likely he is to hit a monster; values and properties that would otherwise be difficult to keep track of. The purpose of these statistics is to enable everyone concerned to deal with complex situations and conflicts, which might arise during play. The intended focus is upon the interaction amongst the players: upon picking a role, and thinking within it and within the world presented to you by the narrator — the DM. An RPG is about exploring an alternate life. The rules do not dictate; they empower.

This is, of course, not how people always play it; for many people, the organizational system — a tool which exists to make the experience easier to manage — has become confused with the game itelf, transforming the system into a bureaucratic trap, and the process of playing an unhealthy exercise in tunnel-vision. And that’s the whole problem we’re discussing.

These systems are a convenience; they only exist, in principle, to enhance the core ideals at stake in the experience. If the systems are no longer doing their job correctly, then let’s find a new structure that will work with contemporary technology to address those ideals; that will be a tool instead of a distraction, once more.

The question is raised: “If, however, you remove all of the systems that people have come to associate with the RPG, will a game still be recognizable as such?”

I think so. Again, it all depends on burrowing back down to the essence of what an RPG is trying to illustrate. If it’s there, people will feel it.

A decent comparative model might be our definitions for different genres of fiction: tragedy, comedy, farce. Each of these has a specific definition, which tends to be tied to a certain combination of defined human emotions and certain models of human behavior, desire, and ambition. The colors can be combined in any way you desire, clearly; such is the manner of life.

Nevertheless, there are certain keys to the RPG which are not present in the shooter, in the (closely-related) adventure game, in the platformer. There are certain real human traits that these genres exist to placate, stir, or simply acknowledge. It might be helpful to dig up what these are, if we are to do much of human meaning with this medium. Then we can build with them.

Actually.

I think I have hit upon why videogames remain an immature form of expression: the focus remains generally upon the method of execution rather than the underlying themes.

In other media, genres are generally classified in terms of what they have to say about life. In videogames, genres tend to be broken down by the actual game mechanics — by the process, rather than the goal. This is rather a shortsighted approach, akin to the way one sees life as a child.

I think this is something to revise, someday.

[For more discussion, see this thread.]

Missing Pieces

  • Reading time:1 mins read

The message I get from Confessions of a Dangerous Mind is: “Hey, we’re making a movie and we’re totally basing it on a Charlie Kaufman script. Isn’t that trippy? Isn’t that cool?”

The message I get from the supplementary material is “Oh my god, George Clooney is such a great director! He has, like, ideas and stuff! He doesn’t even give himself more takes than the other actors!”

I am sure this is all true.

First-Place Pathos

  • Reading time:1 mins read

The success music in Excitebike is oddly touching.

This seems to come mostly from the interval between notes three and four. Or perhaps it’s just the leap up to the third note, and the need to resolve that somewhere. Yet, what an unusual place to resolve.

To then resolve that measure into the syncopated riff of measure two — well. There’s something going on here.

After that point, Hip Tanaka just winds the piece up into a crisp, early-NES victory burble. That part is disposable.

The first part, though:

There is some sense of victory, or weak recognition of joy — yet it comes through a conflicted filter. Even winning is not enough to heal the deep emotional wounds our heroic racer has faced. Now it is time for him to walk off into fate and the sunset, his mission complete. We will never see him again — though sometimes, when the smell of nitro arrives on a summer breeze, we shall remember.

Someone remix it for me, please, and bring this quality out.