We All Fall Down

Eek? Oh.

  • Reading time:1 mins read

Today, between not killing myself on a bicycle and not killing myself by running face-first into a tree branch, I went to a used game shop. There, I found… games. I saw a loose cartridge of Dynamite Headdy, and one of Rocket Knight Adventures. I passed both over, as I do not accept Genesis games without cases if I can help it. I saw a copy of The Adventure of Link, gold cart, mostly unblemished, for five dollars. It rattled.

I walked out of the store (collectively, over two vacancies over five minutes) with Tengen’s version of Sega’s Alien Syndrome, for the NES; Acclaim’s version of Toaplan’s Tiger Heli, for the NES; Capcom’s version of Capcom’s P.N.03, for the Gamecube; and ICO.

I… think the above cost about fourteen dollars, in total.

My only memory card is currently elsewhere. After plummeting twice off one or another high precipice, I have decided not to play too much of ICO until I have something to fall back on. Nevertheless, I will comment on what I have seen thus far:

Damn.

…

I need juice.

Another Month

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If you have not seen our GDC report, it is… perhaps worth seeing. Simon Carless, of Slashdot Games, seems to enjoy it.

I think I am finally unwound, now. Perhaps I can get caught up on all I have ignored.

The Secret of Pac-Man’s Success: Making Fun First

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by [name redacted]

The radios were on the seats, this time. Most of the radios remained in place. On the screen to the right, An isometric illustration of Pac-Man greeted newcomers. A scruffy middle-aged man fumbled behind the podium. Brandon and I chose seats close and to the right of center. When most of the seats were filled, the man behind the podium turned on his microphone; it was Iwatani. He introduced himself, and his topic, in an English which might have carried him through the lecture, were he able to keep it up.

He wasn’t. To fill in the language gap, Iwatani was given a tag-team of feuding translators. Every few minutes, one woman would trade off for the other. It was a little bizarre to listen to, as it was clear that neither translation was as accurate or well-phrased as it could have been. One of the women tried at least three times, and ultimately failed, to pronounce “Galaxian”. Neither seemed to notice Iwatani’s well-organized slides, which almost narrated his lecture on their own. According to Brandon, who chose to listen to the Japanese channel on his radio, there was a point when one of the translators shouted at the other to “shut up”.

( Continue reading at Insert Credit )

dep3D

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by [name redacted]

While we bode our time for Zelda time, Brandon and I drifted into the lonely walled-off corridors to the left of the main entrance. Beyond a door and a glass wall, in a far corner, we encountered a low-key display of several otherwise-unmemorable driving games. The only immediate sign of life was in that the place seemed oddly crowded. As we neared, it became evident why: the driving game on the big-screen TV was… blurry. I looked down, and at my feet I saw a bucket full of paper spectacles: 3D glasses. Oh my. It has been a while, hasn’t it. And these were not your old-style red-and-blue glasses; these are the newer type, which provide a clear, untinted picture.

( Continue reading at Insert Credit )

OutRun2

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by [name redacted]

As we strolled past the Megaking booth on the show floor, I spotted an OutRun2 machine in the distance. Drawing closer, I noticed that it was a feature of the CRI (now a subdivision of SEGA-AM2) booth. A polite elderly Japanese fellow swiped Brandon’s and my ID cards; he handed us pamphlets and old-fashioned Japanese fans with the CRI logo on them. Only two people were before us. The initial plan was, I — being such a fan of the original OutRun — would play the game, and subsequently write up my impressions. Time was short.

As we waited, I read through a bilingual “Naze Nani CRI” comic, which illustrated for kids on both shores the benefits of MPEG SofDec and the ADX compression algorithm. A middle-aged Asian man stood behind me, arms crossed in front of his ID badge. “Do you like the original?” he asked. We nodded and grinned, politely.

( Continue reading at Insert Credit )

The Evolution of a Franchise: The Legend of Zelda

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by [name redacted]

We arrived late; the conference was already half-over, and the crowd had spilled to standing-room-in-the-hall-outside-the-conference-room-only. An Asian woman with a nervous smile asked us if we wanted headphones — sort of like what people wear during international debates. “Channel two is English” she said. I had no trouble setting my radio to channel two, or turning it on, or even adjusing the volume. Somehow, though, it still refused to work. Being the tall one, Brandon suggested I wedge myself just inside the door. I could see over everyone’s head. Eiji Aonuma stood on-stage, pontificating as if on a PBS special. To his left (and my right) was a large screen, showing a clip of Link, from The Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker, running through the first few scenes of that game.

I turned to Brandon. I pointed toward my radio. Brandon pressed the power button. He adjusted the volume. He fiddled with the antenna. Then he shrugged and began to turn away. A moment later, he grabbed the end of my headphones and plugged them into the radio. My ears began to melt with Hell’s very own translation. I seized the radio and spun the volume dial to half of what it was.

When my senses recovered, Aonuma was talking about all of the little, insignificant details in the Zelda series, and how they bring reality to the game. He spoke of the difference between reality and realism. “To Miyamoto, reality is far more important,” Aonuma explained. This seemed fair enough, if a bit obvious. He then took the time to give several examples of just what reality means in the context of a game like Wind Waker.

( Continue reading at Insert Credit )

The 2004 Game Developers Choice Awards

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by [name redacted]

I watched the Academy Awards for the first time, a few weeks ago. The MPAA’s screener ban (instituted in part to cut down on indie competition, under the ruse of piracy prevention) had apparently backfired, as the 2003 nominees consisted of perhaps the most well-chosen bunch of the right movies, for the right awards, that the Academy had ever selected. I thought, hey. Why not.

After an hour and a half, three hundred commercials, Billy Crystal’s singing, Billy Crystal’s unfunny jokes, Billy Crystal’s just-this-side-of-unkind remarks to Clint Eastwood and others, endless Hobbit awards, and Billy Crystal, I wandered away. I now thought I understood, first-hand, the general antipathy for award ceremonies.

With this in mind, I was unsure what to expect when I walked into the IGDA Game Developers Choice Awards. I had read about the Gunpei Yokoi ceremony the year before; that had sounded unconventional and sincere. Yet: it was still an awards ceremony. How long could I tolerate the pomp, I wondered.

( Continue reading at Insert Credit )

Inner Dimensions

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by [name redacted]

A bit of reporting for Xbox Nation Magazine, which was actually printed in both the May and June issues. It seemed I had an in for writing more complex material — I notice a bunch of notes for further articles — but then the magazine folded. A shame.

As relative newcomer to the console scene, Microsoft arrived in the silence after the storm. Those who were present recall the trials of the mid-nineties, as Sony squeezed the industry through a macabre cleansing operation. Developers were forced to convert to 3D development or not only risk public dismissal, but risk disapproval from Sony. Without Sony’s OK, games go unpublished — and Sony has its own agenda. Crushing to many smaller houses, this policy continues even today.

Even so, some studios, like SNK, refuse to surrender.

STATEMENT OF INTENT

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That‘s about it. In the original Jet Set Radio, the player had five or six things to think about at any moment. Early on, there were the mechanics to worry about. Then there was a bit of an exploration element. Then there was the goal of the stage — which usually involved finding, accessing, and spraying graffiti on set locations. (The spraying itself was a change of pace, as it involved standing still and entering complex thumbstick gestures — possibly in the midst of an otherwise-chaotic scene.) Then there were the police to worry about. Then there was the strategy of which tags to save for last, to make them easiest to spray on the go while avoiding the cops. Then there were the Graffiti Souls to find and collect — the doing of which was really helpful in teaching the player how the levels were put together. There was the whole performance-scoring mechanic, which encouraged you to complete every level in style, on top of everything else asked of you. Then there was the timer.

The player always had something to think about; it was all about trial-and-error, as one learned how the game thought and how it wanted the player to think — namely, with a fast and ordered chaos. The game was a rush. And if you missed something, you could go back in and play around later.

JSRF reminds me a bit of what JSR is like when it’s beaten; one big city, that you can freely skate around and explore. No danger. No stress. Whatever Graffiti Souls you’ve missed, you now can sort out how to collect. In JSR, that was perhaps the best part of the game — yet part of the reason why that freedom was so rewarding was that I had to earn it. I was fed one piece of the game at a time, and at the end I got to enjoy how everything fit together. Also, the level design was terrific.

The level design in JSRF isn’t as interesting. Beyond that, though, the game… everything’s compartmentalized now. I never have to think. I just wander around through this city, and the game places task after task before me. “Do this”, it says. So I do it. Then I wander. “Now do this”, it tells me. So I do that. Then I wander. “Now you must knock down all of these police” it says. “Now look at this — find a way up to this Graffiti Soul.”

Hell. I…

Did I ever have to fight the police in the first game? They were pretty dangerous. That was kind of the idea, I thought. It was all about running from the cops. They kept the pressure on. Now the only interaction I have is the occasional skit where the game fences me into an arena and I have to defeat a certain number of policemen or tanks or what-have-you to continue.

Now. Come to think of it — since the police aren’t a constant problem, why is the graffiti system so simplified? All one must do now is hit the right trigger, and the graffiti appears. No stopping; no effort. Were the game more action-packed, to the point where it was dangerous to stand still for even a moment, this tradeoff would be helpful. So far, however, that just ain’t the case. Again, all of the game’s elements are now broken up. There’s no timer. There’s no danger. I’m free to wander and spray as I wish. Again, all of the danger is partitioned into these silly skits in between game areas.

Perhaps it is unfair for me to compare this game to its predecessor, as it is clear that it attempts a different dynamic — yet exactly what dynamic is that? It has become a standard exploration-collection platformer, only with even more frustrating wonky controls than the original Jet Set Radio. The only things which seem to really set it apart are its visual and aural style. And even that isn’t up to the standard set by the first game.

The visuals are polished; they’re sleek, and ever-so-slightly more Western in style. Yet although interesting, they lack the quirky charm that so characterized JSR. Although still impressive, they feel kind of bland in comparison. Likewise, the soundtrack — well. I’ll get to Cibo Matto in a moment. I’m not going to get into the Latch Brothers’ contributions. Hideki Naganuma must have had an off day when he wrote the music to this game. There are a few excellent tracks (“The Concept of Love”, “Like a Butterfly” (is that its name?)), yet others seem built out of pieces of familiar tracks from the first game or just… don’t have as much power to them as what he contributed before. There’s a lack of energy here.

As for “Birthday Cake”: I like Cibo Matto. I’m really fond of them. I like this album (Viva! La Woman). I like this song. You all are right to criticize the use of this song in this game. Do not, however, let it taint your concept of Cibo Matto. They are very good.

Not only is this perhaps the least appropriate song to choose for the game; it also got mangled along the way. First, someone at Sega decided to censor it; two phrases were edited out (“I don’t give a flying fuck though!”; “You made the war with the Vietnamese.”), making the song play like a gravel driveway. Then — I don’t know what happened with the compression or the EQ. I guess someone tried to make the song sound “fuller” by scrunching all of the levels together. It just sounds awful, though. It’s hard to listen to.

Yes, the song is shrill in its natural state — yet it is charming as well! It is funny! That has been effectively removed; all that remains is noise.

And again: wow, what a bad choice of a song, anyway. Cibo Matto was perfect. Just not this song.

So. There that is. The game is not awful. It is just mediocre, from what I have seen. As I have said elsewhere, however, I think I could better tolerate an all-out failure. Instead, this game feels like a compromise for the benefit of everyone who didn’t get the original Jet Set Radio. The fallacy there is: those people? They’re not going to get it. Jet Set Radio, on its own power, ain’t a mass-appeal concept. You’re playing to the wrong crowd. If you want to bring people in, you convert them through social engineering. You make them see how hip you are (perhaps through smart marketing and PR). You don’t change, or you’ve wasted everything.

Ah me. My foot is asleep.

Not mere youth.

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I think perhaps the greatest thrill and the greatest feel of accomplishment comes from what you’re not supposed to do. Every time you break an apparent rule and you get away with it, you feel stronger, smarter; more clever and more brave. All the better if by breaking the rules you are confident you’ve chosen the more true path. Then instead of a nagging guilt, you feel like a bit of a hero unto yourself. All of the fear you feel, all of the over-awareness you face, goes right to your heart. And it glows. The universe is broader than you had been led to believe; and now you’ve broken through that facade. Who knows what else is out there. Who knows what you might accomplish. It’s such a feeling of freedom. It’s moments like that which build a rich life.

And it’s moments like that which, to some extent, build art.

I think some element of this explains why I respect Hideo Kojima’s vision, even if I’ve not played his recent games and I never enjoyed his old ones. It also explains why the standard formula piece — romatic comedy, action movie, war movie, musical, western — in which so many people seem to take comfort — feels like death to me. I do not enjoy such fare because I feel like I am suffocating; like the walls are being drawn around me; like choices are being actively removed from my universe. Just as a book like Catch-22 makes me feel more alive, I feel like I am, to some extent, dying, when I enter these worlds.

I resent that. I don’t like feeling that way. It is difficult to just ignore and tolerate mediocrity; I am too sensitive to dig my heels in and endure. It takes a measure of will and security just not to lash out, but rather to take pity, to take note, and to move on in search for another deviant soul.

Xbox update!

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Knights of the Old Republic is the missing single-player mode of Phantasy Star Online.

Just thought I’d point that out.

GOD, when will it get started? I’m twelve hours in, and the plot has just barely begun to crawl out of its fetal position. Although I still am running around the same town on the same planet, now I have met a Jedi! I’ve accomplished ONE THING. Hooray!

This still is more fun than JSRF, however.

I think I’m in trouble. I really like the article I’m writing. This is never a good sign.

Out of the frying pan, into the SIMULATED COCAINE BUSINESS

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I have an Xbox. It is huge. I’m using it as a platform for my Dreamcast. The main reason I got it is that it came with a bunch of software that I wanted anyway, and which on its collective own, even at a discount, would have cost about the same as I paid for it AND an Xbox. What I didn’t realize, though, is that I got a SPECIAL BONUS prize not even mentioned in the auction: ten digital tracks of what I assume is the top of the top of contemporary white suburban trash metal. The person from whom I got the Xbox did not bother to name his custom soundtrack, so I have renamed it “NOOOOOOO!” for my further convenience. Somehow I cannot bear to throw things away (especially if they’re free and special, as this soundtrack so clearly is), so it remains on the drive.

Although I have no clue what I’m doing, I begin to understand the appeal of the recent Grand Theft Auto games. I was vaguely familiar with the first two. They were silly and kind of dumb. Mister Lemming And Company really did something else with GTA3, though. It is hard to wrap my brain around how much work went into the most unlikely details. In Vice City (which, from about an hour’s play, I don’t enjoy as much), I spent more time listening to a seemingly-endless parody of public radio than I did running people over. Now that’s entertainment!

Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic is… reminiscent of a BioWare game. It is, alas, more contrived and a bit less flexible than I expected, yet the portion I have experienced is not without joy. For its part. I wish I could say the same of JSRF. I did not wish to believe what I had heard — as the trailers made the game seem so pretty! And Hideki Naganuma is not a man to argue with. And the soundtrack contains the remix of Guitar Vader’s “I Love Love You”! I mean. How could the game go wrong? By not being fun, I guess. What happened here?

Well, I know what happened. Or I know how the game feels about what happened, whatever it is that happened. I won’t get into that at the moment, however.

Sega GT is a car game. I don’t understand car games. I set it to play Oingo Boingo while I crash my realistic car all over a series of vaguely attractive race tracks, lose money, and slowly crawl into video poverty. I am sure this must entertain someone.

And. That is all I will say on that matter, for the moment.

Wait, no it isn’t. When I first began to play Vice City, I tried to be a nice guy — and yet I did not quite understand the controls. I wound up punching a hooker in the face. This seemed to excite my mother (who had lingered nearby, out of curiosity) to no end. She yelled at me: “Hit her again! Hit her!” When I complied, this still was inadequate. “There’s another one! Hit her!” I planted my character’s foot into the face of a hooker ascending a flight of stairs. The hooker flew in a slow, steep arc and crashed to the landing below, in a pool of blood. Money scattered everywhere. “THINGS!” my mother cried. “GET THE THINGS!”

…

I’m not sure I have a comment for that.

Billy Hatcher and the Giant Egg (GameCube/SEGA)

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by [name redacted]

Billy Hatcher is not a bad game, on a mathematical scale; merely unremarkable. Even its bugs and annoyances are, in effect, boring. If the game were more novel and ambitious in its problems, then it would give me some grotesque passion to carry forward. As it is, the game gives me nothing to work with.

( Continue reading at Insert Credit )

Omit needless words

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After some months and numerous delays, I have finished reading Strunk & White’s The Elements of Style — all 85 pages of it (102, with the glossary and introductions). It seems that doing so required that I spend two weeks in parts unfamiliar and two hours on a bus with broken headphones. Despite the uncertainty which, on cue, descends upon me as I descend back home, I feel both relieved and delighted by the advice in this volume.

An excerpt; see if you can guess at the root of my fondness:

Flammable.     An oddity, chiefly useful in saving lives. The common word meaning “combustible” is inflammable. But some people are thrown off by the in- and think inflammable means “not combustible.” For this reason, trucks carrying gasoline or explosives are now marked FLAMMABLE. Unless you are operating such a truck and hence are concerned with the safety of children and illiterates, use inflammable.

My having read the book also gives me a more solid introduction to the gerund.

The next time I am insane, I might revise my entire backlog of articles, such that they no longer horrify me.

I have been suggested to post this. I will post this now.

Through rain and sleet and sold-out premieres

  • Reading time:6 mins read

Well. That was better. Actually, I think this is the only one of the three theatrical cuts which felt satisfactory as-was.

I notice that each movie has a completely different feel to its direction — this, despite the fact that they were all done at once. It must be in the editing; each movie was edited by a different person. The guy behind the second movie was an old fellow who had edited lots of movies, going back decades. The first and third movies were edited more specifically by people close to Peter Jackson. And the editing was far better here.

Whereas every cut in The Two Towers felt like it propelled me into another universe, this one flows. And there is enough cross-reference that one is never for want for relative context between the story threads. It fits together in such a way that it persists as one coherent, intense hunk-o-movie, and only seems awkward when Sean Astin is in the frame. Well, that and some of the Smeagol sequence at the very beginning. (What’s with the close-ups?) Overall, Gollum is far less annoying than before; I do give that. The toothy bit in the opening is kind of weird, though.

I like the end credits.

King Theoden strikes me as the most interesting characer in this movie. He is to Return of the King what Boromir is to Fellowship of the Ring. If you follow. Meanwhile, Aragorn has hardly a larger role than Faramir. Curious.

Is it just me, or is this movie an awful lot more violent than the first two combined? Stranglings; whackings-over-the-head with huge, pointy rocks; huge, meaty punches in the face; impalements… Some people have complained about the scene where Gandalf beats the hell out of Denethor, with his staff. It amused me.

This following bit I typed up before I left:

Actually, Now that I’ve reread the books for the first time in a decade, I’m able to better appreciate Jackson’s choices in adapting The Two Towers. As is often the case, everyone in the universe except — apparently — me is exactly backwards on this matter. It’s not that bad an adaptation for its part — at least, not in the detail. Not on a surface level. Even the big changes (Elves in Rohan; Aragorn’s cliff-diving; Faramir’s delayed decision-making) aren’t that huge a divergence.

That does not, however, make it fulfilling cinema.

Still. The choices are easy to understand.

  • In the book, Faramir doesn’t even have to think about his response to Frodo (although he does spend an awfully long time toying with him and Sam, in attempt to squeeze information out of them). In the movie, Faramir puts off any decision until he has time to find the answer on his own.
  • In the book, a group of previously-unestablished Dunedain rangers appears in the aftermath of Helm’s Deep. The explanation is that Elrond sent them, because of a message from Galadriel. Galadriel knew to send them because Aragorn had wished to see them, and she had read Aragorn’s mind from a distance. (?!) At this revelation, Gimli is amazed with Galadriel’s powers, and wishes that he and Legolas had asked for some of their own kin instead. Legolas seems sad and agrees that would be nice — but he doubts the Elves would have come even if he had thought to wish it. In the movie, Elrond merely asks Galadriel to send a company of Elves (who were, unlike the rangers, previously established). And they arrive in time to help at Helm’s Deep, rather than five minutes later. Wish fulfilled.
  • The Warg/Aragorn sequence was a mistake, yes — and yet not without basis. Warg riders are referenced at least twice during that very sequence of the book, as they were an apparent menace to other parts of Rohan at that moment. While the Aragorn/cliff element is of debatable cinematic value and integrity, it’s no stretch to bring the Wargs a couple of leagues closer and have them meet the party for such a scuffle.

And. Well, so on. All of that is fine for what it is. In many places, the adaptation clarifies and enhances the overt plot events of the book with almost as much cleverness and skill as displayed in Fellowship. It’s just the movie that doesn’t work, for reasons cited below and elsewhere.

The third one does work, though. And — this is interesting — in tone, it actually feels kind of like the second movie never occurred. Aside from the few characters introduced there, it might as well not have — further enhancing its Twilight Zone quality. It’s like the movie was on pause for three and a half hours, and now it’s all alive again.

Character threads introduced during Fellowship, then dropped in the next film, have been resumed here. (Pippin is an idiot!) Constant references are made to earlier events, particularly those in the first movie. (Watch for the moth!) We’ve got thematic focus again. Heck, King even reclaims that horror movie edge that the first movie had (and it’s gotten grizzlier). Also like the first, yet unlike the second movie, it feels polished and self-contained; you could easily watch King without seeing either of the other two, and feel like you’ve seen something complete and substantial.

And golly, there’s a lot of singing. Well-used, at that.

On a single viewing, it seems not quite as good as (the extended version of) Fellowship. A fine line, yes; yet it’s there. King feels forced in a few places (particularly toward the end), and Sean Astin both can’t act and is given some of the most important scenes. Not as personal. Not as much texture. Nearly, though. It’s in the same league. And it’s satisfying in a different way. It feels grand. Perhaps the extended version will raise it up an extra notch. It almost doesn’t need the enhancement, though. I wonder.

I think the extended version will have to use a few alternate takes. I kind of like how the movie manages to sidestep Saruman. It’s an elegant dance, except for the confusing detail of the location of the Palantir. Offhand, it looks like the movie will need a different edit altogether in order to shoehorn Christopher Lee (and/or Brad Douriff) into that scene. (It will be easier to give them their Alan Lee portraits in the ending sequence.)

Really, I don’t understand how people can stand up and leave during a credit sequence like this. What’s wrong with everyone? There was nobody left in the theater when the credits were over. The cleaning crews were getting impatient for me to leave. Pah, multiplexes.

Trivia note: Sam’s daughter is apparently played by Sean’s daughter.