Matt Hughes, rest in peace.
Earlier this morning, Andrew Hayward, editor for Mac|Life and games writer-for-higher, delivered the sad news that another freelancer named Matt Hughes took his own life within the past few days. Matt was an up-and-coming writer who wrote with passion and charmed his friends and colleagues in the industry, and his passing shocked nearly everyone in my Twitter feed who knew or had worked with him. I never knew Matt, but it's plain that he was well-liked by those who did, and that we are worse off because of his absence.
The games writing community responded to the news of Matt's passing by remembering their interactions with him, and urging anyone with thoughts of hurting themselves to reach out to others and talk about it. Russ Pitts of Polygon also mentioned looking into a charity for geeks suffering from depression, and responses was overwhelmingly supportive. I hate that it takes the death of a talented young man like Matt for the games writing industry to stop fighting with each other and work together, but my heart was warmed by the sight of so much positive emotion and support both for Matt's immediate family and friends, and for everyone in the industry who has ever had problems with anxiety or depression.
I have never been diagnosed with depression or any anxiety-related illness, so I'm not sure how much credence I can lend to the discussion about depression among the geek and games writing community. I have dealt with self-esteem and anxiety issues for most of my teen and young adult life, though, and have had my share of nights when I feel absolutely worthless and want to crawl into bed, never to wake up if only it would dull the horrible sting of my own flaws. Statistics exist regarding the number of persons in the United States living with depression, but numbers don't mean a damn thing when you're scraping the bottom of an emotional well with a half-filled whiskey bottle.
Which is why I was so grateful to see everyone banding together to talk about their own issues in combating depression or mental illness. Not being friends with anyone in my immediate social circle with comparable emotional tics, I've always felt isolated in dealing with my absurd issues of self-worth, and reading comments from other games writers that, basically, answered my own insecurities with genuine emotional care made me feel so much better about myself. I thought I was struggling with depression because I'm having so much trouble trying to enter the business. Turns out that other, already-established writers are struggling with it, too.
Thank you everyone in the games writing industry for your kind words, and for letting me know that I'm not the only one that feels absurdly down from time to time. My thoughts and prayers go out to Matt and his family, and to those who knew him. We lost a talented, wonderful young man, and I hope that we never have to lose another soul to depression before we realize how tight the games writing community is, and how willing they are to help, if only we ask.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Tough decisions: creating the perfect character
Do you remember the story of Pygmalion? Pygmalion was a character of Roman myth, written about by Latin poet Ovid, who carved statues of women from ivory. Though disinterested in women of Cyprus where he lived, he eventually fell in love with one of his carvings, believing his ivory woman to be realistic and beautiful.
Pygmalion's infatuation with his creation is exaggerated and 'round the twist, but I often feel like I relate to him when it comes to creating videogame characters. Whether it's sculpting a playable character from the ground-up or simply deciding on its names, I obsess about the details in order to make my avatar perfectly tuned to my likings. No wonder the guy developed an emotional bond with his handiwork—you put enough attention into something, and you're bound to feel an attachment to it.
Creating a character in a videogame is a lofty experience for me, and it all starts with intent—what kind of character am I going to build? Will I make a digital surrogate, recreating myself for an extra vicarious thrill? What about a character for storytelling purposes, to put myself and its place and wonder what decisions he or she would do, given the fiction? Am I creating my won digital offspring, whose progress I guide like a parent?
See? I'm already making game-defining decisions, and I haven't even hit the character-editor!
Myself, I like to create a character that looks like me, making it easier to project myself into. After all, most games are power fantasies, and watching myself taking a group of bandits to town or nailing a spectacularly difficult trick combo gives me an extra thrill. For certain games, I duplicate the exact outfit I'm wearing when I create the character—my created character's wardrobe in Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 3 had an exact match in my closet, right down to my T-shirt pattern and my yellow Casio wristwatch.
Occasionally, though, I build someone I "wish" I was—someone who "feels" like me, even though they may not look like me at all. My hair is too long to stand in for Shepard in Mass Effect, for instance, so instead I built a Shepard whose looks I identified with; and then gave her Jennifer Hale's voice, whose performance more closely matched the intensity and passion I felt I would act with when the galaxy is on the line. One of my friends did this the last time we created characters on Rock Band—she created what she wanted to look like, enhancing the transporting effect already brought on by virtual rock stardom vis-a-vis plastic instruments.
Naming often presents a greater challenge than creating a character model. At least when I'm building a character, I have two directives: looks like me, or looks awesome. Names, though, require much more effort and creativity to get "right." Do I name this character after myself? What about my friends? Maybe I pick the name of a favorite public figure, or one from a classmate that I've always though sounded cool. This is a name I have to live with for the entire duration of my experience, that I'll have to see every time my character chats with an NPC.
Similar to character creation, I often name game characters after myself, even when it comes to well-known characters like Link in the Legend of Zelda series or the protagonist in the Pokémon games. Silent protagonists make for the best opportunity to project myself into my creation, and I get a small thrill when the village elder is beseeching me—me!—to save their sorry hides, rather than some guy I'm controlling.
The trick comes with naming multiple characters, like new recruits in XCOM: Enemy Unknown or fresh party members in JRPGs like Final Fantasy VI. This is where the whole naming-after-friends stratagem pays off, placing your buddies a gambit to save the world. I usually keep character names as default for story purposes, but occasionally I branch out—during my first playthrough of Chrono Trigger, I named everyone after Dragon Ball Z characters, because that's what you do when you're eleven.
Finally, I can't finish creating my character without first deciding how I will use it. Will I use it to make decisions in the game that would match my own? Maybe I want to tell a story, and will choose actions based on how I think my character would respond. Hell, I may not give two shakes about why the character does anything, and play as flippantly as possible. Intent matters, and creating a serious stand-in vs. a conduit for faffing about results in two different approaches for me.
So much time and effort spent on getting the particulars right. So much sweat and furrowing of brows before players even hit the first challenge. I do it out of love for the game, though. More often than not, I care about a game's story enough to try to take it seriously, and that means getting serious with creating the most ideal partner with whom to share the game experience. Pygmalion's story ended happily, with the goddess Venus turning his unrequited statue lover into a "real" woman, and watching my newly-created character strut across the screen, one whom I am not just content but overjoyed to play as—well, if I don't feel quite as pleased as Pygmalion I can certainly understand where he's coming from.
Pygmalion's infatuation with his creation is exaggerated and 'round the twist, but I often feel like I relate to him when it comes to creating videogame characters. Whether it's sculpting a playable character from the ground-up or simply deciding on its names, I obsess about the details in order to make my avatar perfectly tuned to my likings. No wonder the guy developed an emotional bond with his handiwork—you put enough attention into something, and you're bound to feel an attachment to it.
Creating a character in a videogame is a lofty experience for me, and it all starts with intent—what kind of character am I going to build? Will I make a digital surrogate, recreating myself for an extra vicarious thrill? What about a character for storytelling purposes, to put myself and its place and wonder what decisions he or she would do, given the fiction? Am I creating my won digital offspring, whose progress I guide like a parent?
See? I'm already making game-defining decisions, and I haven't even hit the character-editor!
Myself, I like to create a character that looks like me, making it easier to project myself into. After all, most games are power fantasies, and watching myself taking a group of bandits to town or nailing a spectacularly difficult trick combo gives me an extra thrill. For certain games, I duplicate the exact outfit I'm wearing when I create the character—my created character's wardrobe in Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 3 had an exact match in my closet, right down to my T-shirt pattern and my yellow Casio wristwatch.
Occasionally, though, I build someone I "wish" I was—someone who "feels" like me, even though they may not look like me at all. My hair is too long to stand in for Shepard in Mass Effect, for instance, so instead I built a Shepard whose looks I identified with; and then gave her Jennifer Hale's voice, whose performance more closely matched the intensity and passion I felt I would act with when the galaxy is on the line. One of my friends did this the last time we created characters on Rock Band—she created what she wanted to look like, enhancing the transporting effect already brought on by virtual rock stardom vis-a-vis plastic instruments.
Naming often presents a greater challenge than creating a character model. At least when I'm building a character, I have two directives: looks like me, or looks awesome. Names, though, require much more effort and creativity to get "right." Do I name this character after myself? What about my friends? Maybe I pick the name of a favorite public figure, or one from a classmate that I've always though sounded cool. This is a name I have to live with for the entire duration of my experience, that I'll have to see every time my character chats with an NPC.
Similar to character creation, I often name game characters after myself, even when it comes to well-known characters like Link in the Legend of Zelda series or the protagonist in the Pokémon games. Silent protagonists make for the best opportunity to project myself into my creation, and I get a small thrill when the village elder is beseeching me—me!—to save their sorry hides, rather than some guy I'm controlling.
The trick comes with naming multiple characters, like new recruits in XCOM: Enemy Unknown or fresh party members in JRPGs like Final Fantasy VI. This is where the whole naming-after-friends stratagem pays off, placing your buddies a gambit to save the world. I usually keep character names as default for story purposes, but occasionally I branch out—during my first playthrough of Chrono Trigger, I named everyone after Dragon Ball Z characters, because that's what you do when you're eleven.
Finally, I can't finish creating my character without first deciding how I will use it. Will I use it to make decisions in the game that would match my own? Maybe I want to tell a story, and will choose actions based on how I think my character would respond. Hell, I may not give two shakes about why the character does anything, and play as flippantly as possible. Intent matters, and creating a serious stand-in vs. a conduit for faffing about results in two different approaches for me.
So much time and effort spent on getting the particulars right. So much sweat and furrowing of brows before players even hit the first challenge. I do it out of love for the game, though. More often than not, I care about a game's story enough to try to take it seriously, and that means getting serious with creating the most ideal partner with whom to share the game experience. Pygmalion's story ended happily, with the goddess Venus turning his unrequited statue lover into a "real" woman, and watching my newly-created character strut across the screen, one whom I am not just content but overjoyed to play as—well, if I don't feel quite as pleased as Pygmalion I can certainly understand where he's coming from.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
How to properly do a videogame radio station
cI love radio. In spite of repetitive station playlists and constant advertisements, radio is a big part of my music-listening experience both in the car and while I’m at home. I like to get in touch with a town’s local character through its radio stations, and I’ve discovered many of my favorite songs through listening to various college and classic rock radio stations. While my friends like to switch on their iPods or Spotify, I like the old-fashioned sense of place that comes with a good radio stations.
My obsession with quality radio spills over into videogames. One of my favorite experiences in SSX 3, which is to say one of my favorite experiences is gaming, is cruising around and listening to EA Radio Big, the in-game radio station complete with disc jockey, DJ Atomika. I’ve just finished up playing the demo for Forza Horizons, and I’m thrilled at its three radio stations, complete with different formats and sweepers between songs. If radio is one of my pet pleasures in the meat space, it’s nothing compared to how much I drool over a well-done in-game radio station.
“Well-done” being the operative term. In-game radio is rarely done, and rarely sounds anything like an actual radio station. More than just a collection of songs, proper videogame radio needs to focus on what radio accomplishes apart from playing music and selling ads.
Why even implement a radio station into your game? For my money, in-game radio brings about a feeling of immersion. Radio stations help sell the idea that the game’s environment expands beyond the scope of what the player experiences, and go a long way towards grounding the game’s world as a “real” location. Radio stations can especially be a boon to open-world games, offering a slice of what the average citizens who live in the game’s location listens to.
I have an over-active imagination when it comes to this sort of stuff. Wreck-It Ralph will certainly not help me here.
Where video game radio stations go awry, however, is when songs end and the actual “radio station” part takes over. Games with regular in-game soundtracks never have to worry about this; they usually just go to the next song. Games with radio stations often try to emphasize “comedy” in between songs, either through wa-acky DJs or humorous advertisements, and neither with compelling results.
In-game radio often fails, too, when they fail to jive with a game’s mechanics or the rest of its world. Take Burnout 3: Takedown, for instance. Burnout 3 has an in-game radio station in the form of Crash FM, cranking out pop-punk tunes and helmed by DJ Styker. The urban setting for Burnout 3’s races make Crash FM a plausible, even welcome addition, but Stryker undermines Burnout’s reality by continually referencing the violence in its motorways, joking about how the best way to mod a car is by piling it into another one and other one-liners advocating vehicular homicide. I can buy instantly reviving after my car collides head-on with a bus, but hearing a radio DJ cheerfully acknowledge it to whatever virtual five o’clock commuters are listening makes me question the reality of Burnout’s setting. Radio stations tend to ground game worlds in the realm of believability, but they need to emphasize the right elements of gameplay in order to keep them grounded.
On the subject of small continuity violations are on-air swearing during certain radio shows or commercials. For real-world radio stations, the FCC has guidelines on what DJs can and can’t say on the air, guidelines that even Howard Stern has to follow, or at least had to prior to his exclusive contract for Sirius. This creates a disconnect for me when I listen to “funny” ads in games like Grand Theft Auto or Saints Row. Yeah, it’s funny to hear two characters swearing at each other in order sell a fire arm, if in a Blink 182-esque sophomoric way, but it reminds me that I’m only playing a game, and that the station I’m listening to is only a parody of actual radio. Funny, that in a game where I can swipe a car, run over seven pedestrians, and continue my next mission like nothing happened, I’m crying “unrealistic” because a radio commercial used the word “shit.”
What pushes an in-game radio station over the top and out of the Uncanny Valley is neither DJs nor advertisements. It’s the station’s sweepers, short pre-recorded segments dropped in between songs to plug the radio station. “You’re tuned in to 96.7 The Sky, your home for today’s hottest music!” That sort of thing. From the smallest country station in Montana to KROQ Los Angeles, every radio station uses bumpers to transition from one track to the next, and their addition helps give in-game radio stations extra foundation to plant themselves.
Losing myself in a believable open world is one of gaming’s greatest pleasures, and a quality in-game radio station adds to the goodness. Forza: Horizon has one of the best I’ve heard in years, and now I’m all sorts of excited for Need for Speed: Hot Pursuit and whether or not I can expect any extra radio goodness.
My obsession with quality radio spills over into videogames. One of my favorite experiences in SSX 3, which is to say one of my favorite experiences is gaming, is cruising around and listening to EA Radio Big, the in-game radio station complete with disc jockey, DJ Atomika. I’ve just finished up playing the demo for Forza Horizons, and I’m thrilled at its three radio stations, complete with different formats and sweepers between songs. If radio is one of my pet pleasures in the meat space, it’s nothing compared to how much I drool over a well-done in-game radio station.
“Well-done” being the operative term. In-game radio is rarely done, and rarely sounds anything like an actual radio station. More than just a collection of songs, proper videogame radio needs to focus on what radio accomplishes apart from playing music and selling ads.
Why even implement a radio station into your game? For my money, in-game radio brings about a feeling of immersion. Radio stations help sell the idea that the game’s environment expands beyond the scope of what the player experiences, and go a long way towards grounding the game’s world as a “real” location. Radio stations can especially be a boon to open-world games, offering a slice of what the average citizens who live in the game’s location listens to.
I have an over-active imagination when it comes to this sort of stuff. Wreck-It Ralph will certainly not help me here.
Where video game radio stations go awry, however, is when songs end and the actual “radio station” part takes over. Games with regular in-game soundtracks never have to worry about this; they usually just go to the next song. Games with radio stations often try to emphasize “comedy” in between songs, either through wa-acky DJs or humorous advertisements, and neither with compelling results.
In-game radio often fails, too, when they fail to jive with a game’s mechanics or the rest of its world. Take Burnout 3: Takedown, for instance. Burnout 3 has an in-game radio station in the form of Crash FM, cranking out pop-punk tunes and helmed by DJ Styker. The urban setting for Burnout 3’s races make Crash FM a plausible, even welcome addition, but Stryker undermines Burnout’s reality by continually referencing the violence in its motorways, joking about how the best way to mod a car is by piling it into another one and other one-liners advocating vehicular homicide. I can buy instantly reviving after my car collides head-on with a bus, but hearing a radio DJ cheerfully acknowledge it to whatever virtual five o’clock commuters are listening makes me question the reality of Burnout’s setting. Radio stations tend to ground game worlds in the realm of believability, but they need to emphasize the right elements of gameplay in order to keep them grounded.
On the subject of small continuity violations are on-air swearing during certain radio shows or commercials. For real-world radio stations, the FCC has guidelines on what DJs can and can’t say on the air, guidelines that even Howard Stern has to follow, or at least had to prior to his exclusive contract for Sirius. This creates a disconnect for me when I listen to “funny” ads in games like Grand Theft Auto or Saints Row. Yeah, it’s funny to hear two characters swearing at each other in order sell a fire arm, if in a Blink 182-esque sophomoric way, but it reminds me that I’m only playing a game, and that the station I’m listening to is only a parody of actual radio. Funny, that in a game where I can swipe a car, run over seven pedestrians, and continue my next mission like nothing happened, I’m crying “unrealistic” because a radio commercial used the word “shit.”
What pushes an in-game radio station over the top and out of the Uncanny Valley is neither DJs nor advertisements. It’s the station’s sweepers, short pre-recorded segments dropped in between songs to plug the radio station. “You’re tuned in to 96.7 The Sky, your home for today’s hottest music!” That sort of thing. From the smallest country station in Montana to KROQ Los Angeles, every radio station uses bumpers to transition from one track to the next, and their addition helps give in-game radio stations extra foundation to plant themselves.
Losing myself in a believable open world is one of gaming’s greatest pleasures, and a quality in-game radio station adds to the goodness. Forza: Horizon has one of the best I’ve heard in years, and now I’m all sorts of excited for Need for Speed: Hot Pursuit and whether or not I can expect any extra radio goodness.
Friday, October 19, 2012
What to do with James Bond in videogames
James Bond is a cinematic icon, celebrating his 50th anniversary in cinemas this year and enjoying his 60th in print starting in 2013. On print and onscreen, he is the epitome of debonair living intermingled with male power fantasies—he drives the best cars, drinks the most finest alcohol, and mingles with the most beautiful women, all while protecting Her Majesty and the world from megalomaniacal geniuses and power mad businessmen alike. He is an icon, and a force to be reckoned with.
In videogames, well, it’s not that simple.
Bond has been kicked around in the gaming industry since 1983’s James Bond 007 for Atari 2600 and ColecoVision, but took off like a rocket after Rare blew up the Nintendo 64 with GoldenEye 007. For gamers, Bond was now synonymous with top-shelf shooter action, and barring the occasional 007 Racing, most follow-ups mimicked GoldenEye’s tendencies towards first-person shooting. Bond split his focus between adapting pre-existing movies (Tomorrow Never Dies, The World is Not Enough, Quantum of Solace) and newly-written adventures (Agent Under Fire, Everything or Nothing, Bloodstone), with quality swinging wildly between entries; I enjoyed the hell out of Agent Under Fire and Everything or Nothing on PlayStation 2, but Bloodstone on Xbox 360 put me to sleep.
Our of all of Bond’s various adventures in videogames, though, very few have actually felt anything like a proper James Bond film. My gateway into the Bond license was GoldenEye 007 on the N64, and I was surprised, upon renting several of the spy’s movies, at how little action there was compared to the non-stop shooting on GoldenEye. The niceties of Bond’s film escapades—the exotic locales, the nuts and bolts spying, the banter and interaction between Bond and his villain du jour—are often lost in EA and Activision’s single-minded goal at reviving Bond as the premiere multiplayer game in shooting.
There have been some exceptions. Both Agent Under Fire and Nightfire for the PlayStation 2, Xbox, and GameCube sprinkled Bond Moments throughout their campaign, preset traps and triggers in each level that took advantage of Bond’s resourcefulness in the field, like shooting out the winch on a crane or knocking an enemy boss into an environmental trap. Bond adventures in the third-person perspective often feature sojourns into vehicles and other less shooting-intensive missions. Still, Bond is so much more than how well he shoot, and considering the depths he can plumb if confined only to shooting (*coughhack007Legendswheezecough*), developers are doing both themselves and a disservice by their laser-like focus on Bond’s action prowess.
What separates Bond from other action heroes is character. Bond is a rapscallion bastard of a gentleman, enjoying expensive tastes in clothes and cars, and an impossible competence for completing his mission. Most first-person shooter protagonists end up becoming cyphers for the players, either intentionally (Master Chief, Chell, etc.) or unintentionally (everyone not named Captain Price in the Call of Duty series), making the FPS genre wildly ill-suited to strut why Bond is such a good character. If Bond is to be the hero of his own game, the best place to start is with a third-person camera; we came to see Bond kick ass, so let’s actually see him!
That same character bleeds over into nearly everyone else Bond interacts with while on Her Majesty’s secret service, from the cast of colorful villains he clashes with to the slew of beautiful women he meets over the course of his missions. Think of the film Goldfinger and the first scene from it that pops into mind; there’s a good chance it isn’t the ending fistfight with Oddjob or the car chase involving an ejector seat, but “No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die!” The rapport between Bond and his quarry is as big a part of the experience as a shaken-not-stirred martini, and increased focus on dramatic character moments as well as action would serve the series well.
While large action setpieces make up a notable part of 007’s cinematic adventures, they’re hardly the parts where most of the screen time is dedicated. The best of Bond shows him investigating and following leads, gathering intelligence and piecing together the grander picture. I would love to see some sort of investigation system used during a mission, something like a cross between LA Noire’s evidence-gathering mechanic and Arkham Asylum’s basically automatic evidence-gathering mechanic. Downtime helps make big moments seem more exciting, and low-key sequences of examining areas for clues would help sell Bond for what he really is: a spy and member of British Intelligence.
Many of Bond’s third-person games feature separate driving sequences, sometimes handled by developers with experience making racing games (Need for Speed: Hot Pursuit 2, Project Gotham Racing, etc.). Bond involves himself in vehicular action during most of his films, making the addition of car chases well-suited to videogame adaptation.
Bond is a classic character of cinema and literature whose exploits are begging for proper videogame treatment. Unfortunately, very few of them receive a treatment even approaching “proper,” to the detriment of his potential for greatness in the videogame space. Rather than continuing to churn out yearly Bond games of varying (read: “low”) quality, Activision needs to hand Bond off to a trustworthy developer who can put give their own take, similar to what Rocksteady did with Batman or what High Moon did with Transformers. After all, that same approach was taken by a well-liked development studio who released their own spin on the James Bond formula a full two years after the most-recent Bond film—that studio was Rare, and the game was GoldenEye 007. Certainly no one can complain about those results.
In videogames, well, it’s not that simple.
Bond has been kicked around in the gaming industry since 1983’s James Bond 007 for Atari 2600 and ColecoVision, but took off like a rocket after Rare blew up the Nintendo 64 with GoldenEye 007. For gamers, Bond was now synonymous with top-shelf shooter action, and barring the occasional 007 Racing, most follow-ups mimicked GoldenEye’s tendencies towards first-person shooting. Bond split his focus between adapting pre-existing movies (Tomorrow Never Dies, The World is Not Enough, Quantum of Solace) and newly-written adventures (Agent Under Fire, Everything or Nothing, Bloodstone), with quality swinging wildly between entries; I enjoyed the hell out of Agent Under Fire and Everything or Nothing on PlayStation 2, but Bloodstone on Xbox 360 put me to sleep.
Our of all of Bond’s various adventures in videogames, though, very few have actually felt anything like a proper James Bond film. My gateway into the Bond license was GoldenEye 007 on the N64, and I was surprised, upon renting several of the spy’s movies, at how little action there was compared to the non-stop shooting on GoldenEye. The niceties of Bond’s film escapades—the exotic locales, the nuts and bolts spying, the banter and interaction between Bond and his villain du jour—are often lost in EA and Activision’s single-minded goal at reviving Bond as the premiere multiplayer game in shooting.
There have been some exceptions. Both Agent Under Fire and Nightfire for the PlayStation 2, Xbox, and GameCube sprinkled Bond Moments throughout their campaign, preset traps and triggers in each level that took advantage of Bond’s resourcefulness in the field, like shooting out the winch on a crane or knocking an enemy boss into an environmental trap. Bond adventures in the third-person perspective often feature sojourns into vehicles and other less shooting-intensive missions. Still, Bond is so much more than how well he shoot, and considering the depths he can plumb if confined only to shooting (*coughhack007Legendswheezecough*), developers are doing both themselves and a disservice by their laser-like focus on Bond’s action prowess.
What separates Bond from other action heroes is character. Bond is a rapscallion bastard of a gentleman, enjoying expensive tastes in clothes and cars, and an impossible competence for completing his mission. Most first-person shooter protagonists end up becoming cyphers for the players, either intentionally (Master Chief, Chell, etc.) or unintentionally (everyone not named Captain Price in the Call of Duty series), making the FPS genre wildly ill-suited to strut why Bond is such a good character. If Bond is to be the hero of his own game, the best place to start is with a third-person camera; we came to see Bond kick ass, so let’s actually see him!
That same character bleeds over into nearly everyone else Bond interacts with while on Her Majesty’s secret service, from the cast of colorful villains he clashes with to the slew of beautiful women he meets over the course of his missions. Think of the film Goldfinger and the first scene from it that pops into mind; there’s a good chance it isn’t the ending fistfight with Oddjob or the car chase involving an ejector seat, but “No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die!” The rapport between Bond and his quarry is as big a part of the experience as a shaken-not-stirred martini, and increased focus on dramatic character moments as well as action would serve the series well.
While large action setpieces make up a notable part of 007’s cinematic adventures, they’re hardly the parts where most of the screen time is dedicated. The best of Bond shows him investigating and following leads, gathering intelligence and piecing together the grander picture. I would love to see some sort of investigation system used during a mission, something like a cross between LA Noire’s evidence-gathering mechanic and Arkham Asylum’s basically automatic evidence-gathering mechanic. Downtime helps make big moments seem more exciting, and low-key sequences of examining areas for clues would help sell Bond for what he really is: a spy and member of British Intelligence.
Many of Bond’s third-person games feature separate driving sequences, sometimes handled by developers with experience making racing games (Need for Speed: Hot Pursuit 2, Project Gotham Racing, etc.). Bond involves himself in vehicular action during most of his films, making the addition of car chases well-suited to videogame adaptation.
Bond is a classic character of cinema and literature whose exploits are begging for proper videogame treatment. Unfortunately, very few of them receive a treatment even approaching “proper,” to the detriment of his potential for greatness in the videogame space. Rather than continuing to churn out yearly Bond games of varying (read: “low”) quality, Activision needs to hand Bond off to a trustworthy developer who can put give their own take, similar to what Rocksteady did with Batman or what High Moon did with Transformers. After all, that same approach was taken by a well-liked development studio who released their own spin on the James Bond formula a full two years after the most-recent Bond film—that studio was Rare, and the game was GoldenEye 007. Certainly no one can complain about those results.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
The feedback loop: Micromanaging XCOM and Mass Effect 2
I've been playing Mass Effect 2 nonstop prior to my vacation last week, gunning down Geth and advancing my own personal space opera as quick order. After returning from vacation, I put Mass Effect 2 on hold in lieu of XCOM: Enemy Unknown, which I rented because, hey, maybe I should play current releases every now and again instead of two-year-old critical darlings that everyone already knows and loves. XCOM's pacing and play mechanics result in a far different experience than Mass Effect 2, as I anticipated—we're talking the difference between third-person shooter and turn-based strategy, after all; I did not expect, however, that XCOM would draw me in for many of the same reasons that Mass Effect 2 turned into such a time sink. For all of its dissimilarities in gameplay, both XCOM and Mass Effect 2 have mastered the most crucial part of a game's replay value: the feedback loop.
The feedback loop, in this case, is what drives me forward in my desire to play, and how unwilling I am to put down the controller once I've started. When I talk about being "addicted" to a game, I'm talking about how strongly its feedback loop pulls me in, and how powerless I am to put it down because of how in-the-groove I'm feeling. A good feedback loop papers over a game's natural stopping places, compelling me to continue for two, three, even four hours at a time, and both XCOM and Mass Effect 2 have mastered a very specific type of feedback loop, despite their differences.
XCOM and Mass Effect 2 create their dastardly addictive draw by artfully, seamlessly combining involving action sequences with careful micromanagement and upgrading. During the actual story missions, I'm fighting for survival against enemies while using a Neeson-esque very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over the course of gameplay, and reaping rewards based on my decisions about character progression. After the combat scenario is through, I retreat to my home base and start upgrading my character performance based on the spoils I've collected, researching different buffs and equipment and abilities so that I can go back into the fray and whup even more alien ass. Both gameplay segments feed into each other perfectly—I can't get stronger on the battlefield without outfitting my characters with better equipment, but I can't make the advancements I need without collecting further resources from the field.
It's this desperation to balance out both sides, along with the curiosity of seeing exactly how much misery my new plasma cannon inflicts, that makes both XCOM and Mass Effect 2 so deviously habit-forming. Neither game never feels "at rest," like things are so good that I can just quit in the middle, and there's always a new power to unlock or mission to conquer. The cycle of getting stuff and wrecking shop with said stuff in order to obtain more stuff appeals to the most lizard-like portions of my brain, and if I'm just doing what feels good, man, time can pass by in both games very quickly.
In fact, it's this same lizard-like appeal that makes Call of Duty multiplayer such a hit. Shooting dudes in the face with an M4A1 is a rush, especially when you know that it's a real dude in Ohio instead of a computer-controlled dude, plenty of games let me shoot dudes in the face. Call of Duty's innovation, starting with Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare and continuing through present day, is how it implemented a progression system, a progression system that sounds an awful lot like what I've been talking about in my previous two paragraphs. Consider: before each match, I pick a series of skills (perks) and equipment (guns, explosives, etc.); I then fight off waves of baddies (everyone online) using the totally rad combination of weapons and abilities I hand-picked; afterwards, I gather the resources I collected in battle (XP) and apply it to accruing more gear and buffs (leveling up, though Black Ops lets me full-on purchase upgrades with currency à la XCOM and Mass Effect 2).
When doled out in correct doses, micromanagement adds a ton of fun to already well-executed games, whether it's a role-playing shooter/RPG, a turn-based strategy game, or the world's most popular FPS. Top-notch play mechanics can go a long way towards making a game great, but mastering the feedback loop helps them go even further.
*Note: I have deliberately left the Diablo series out of this discussion, as I have no experience with it at all, though I understand it may as well be called Feedback Loop: The Game.
The feedback loop, in this case, is what drives me forward in my desire to play, and how unwilling I am to put down the controller once I've started. When I talk about being "addicted" to a game, I'm talking about how strongly its feedback loop pulls me in, and how powerless I am to put it down because of how in-the-groove I'm feeling. A good feedback loop papers over a game's natural stopping places, compelling me to continue for two, three, even four hours at a time, and both XCOM and Mass Effect 2 have mastered a very specific type of feedback loop, despite their differences.
XCOM and Mass Effect 2 create their dastardly addictive draw by artfully, seamlessly combining involving action sequences with careful micromanagement and upgrading. During the actual story missions, I'm fighting for survival against enemies while using a Neeson-esque very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over the course of gameplay, and reaping rewards based on my decisions about character progression. After the combat scenario is through, I retreat to my home base and start upgrading my character performance based on the spoils I've collected, researching different buffs and equipment and abilities so that I can go back into the fray and whup even more alien ass. Both gameplay segments feed into each other perfectly—I can't get stronger on the battlefield without outfitting my characters with better equipment, but I can't make the advancements I need without collecting further resources from the field.
It's this desperation to balance out both sides, along with the curiosity of seeing exactly how much misery my new plasma cannon inflicts, that makes both XCOM and Mass Effect 2 so deviously habit-forming. Neither game never feels "at rest," like things are so good that I can just quit in the middle, and there's always a new power to unlock or mission to conquer. The cycle of getting stuff and wrecking shop with said stuff in order to obtain more stuff appeals to the most lizard-like portions of my brain, and if I'm just doing what feels good, man, time can pass by in both games very quickly.
In fact, it's this same lizard-like appeal that makes Call of Duty multiplayer such a hit. Shooting dudes in the face with an M4A1 is a rush, especially when you know that it's a real dude in Ohio instead of a computer-controlled dude, plenty of games let me shoot dudes in the face. Call of Duty's innovation, starting with Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare and continuing through present day, is how it implemented a progression system, a progression system that sounds an awful lot like what I've been talking about in my previous two paragraphs. Consider: before each match, I pick a series of skills (perks) and equipment (guns, explosives, etc.); I then fight off waves of baddies (everyone online) using the totally rad combination of weapons and abilities I hand-picked; afterwards, I gather the resources I collected in battle (XP) and apply it to accruing more gear and buffs (leveling up, though Black Ops lets me full-on purchase upgrades with currency à la XCOM and Mass Effect 2).
When doled out in correct doses, micromanagement adds a ton of fun to already well-executed games, whether it's a role-playing shooter/RPG, a turn-based strategy game, or the world's most popular FPS. Top-notch play mechanics can go a long way towards making a game great, but mastering the feedback loop helps them go even further.
*Note: I have deliberately left the Diablo series out of this discussion, as I have no experience with it at all, though I understand it may as well be called Feedback Loop: The Game.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Kill Morinth | Kill Samara
Finally back in Bozeman, and now I can play non-handheld games. I say this with only mingled relief; I’m pretty sure I’ve spent more time on Radiant Historia in the past week than I have a JRPG since Pokémon Black. Also, I got a chance to find out why so many pubs gave New Super Mario Bros. 2 such unenthusiastic scores—when I read that a game is "more of the same," I didn’t expect it to literally be more of the same, and this is coming from a guy who likes his Call of Duty an awful lot.
Anyway, now that I have access to my Xbox 360 again, I stopped by Hastings to pick up a new release to play in hopes of keeping up with the gaming conversation. To my surprise, both X-COM: Enemy Unknown and Dishonored were available, a situation I hadn’t counted on considering how fast Bozeman’s college student population snaps up new product. Maybe it’s mid-term tests.
What followed was a short, but intense deliberation about which game to rent. On one hand, X-COM: Enemy Unknown: a modern revival of a classic PC franchise that leans heavily on turn-based strategy and micromanaging resources between missions; on the other, Dishonored: the Bethesda game I’ve always wanted to play, with a wide array of options and gameplay choices while still containing sufficient linear focus. It’s like having to choose between Mad Max and Game of Thrones, which, coincidentally, I am also putting off deciding on even as we speak.
X-COM calls to my inner strategy addict, the same one that made Advance Wars on the Game Boy Advance arguably my most-played game for my entire middle school experience, or that kept me hooked on Final Fantasy Tactics Advance while my college roommate occupied our PlayStation 2. The half-hour demonstration I saw at PAX East hyped me up for XCOM, massaging my strategic inclinations and impressing me with it intuitive console mechanics though my enthusiasm has since cooled. Renting XCOM would mean playing it for an absurdly chunky amount of time, though I can think of worse punishments than "playing through an awesome game for a long time =(".
Games like Dishonored turn me off after a short amount of time, thanks to my unfortunate tendency to lock up when presented with too much choice—either that or I get flashbacks to the time I rented Grand Theft Auto IV, played it for two hours, accomplished nothing, then returned it for The Orange Box. I actually spent time with Dishonored at PAX Prime, though, and Arkane Studios nailed the balance between freeform gameplay and gameplay direction. Plus, I want to try completing Dishonored without murdering anyone, something the Bethesda rep assured me was not only possible but completely badass.
I ended up telling the sales associate about both games and realized I rhapsodized about XCOM for much longer than I did Dishonored, so I went with XCOM. I think it's those small vestiges of decision overload that I'm afraid of, or my general aversion from stealth games, that tilted me away from Dishonored, or if my time with the grid-heavy Radiant Historia is driving me to greater heights of turn-based micromanagement. Besides, Dishonored is far too close in narrative presentation to Mass Effect 2; too many dialog trees make Jack a dull boy, or at least a boy who stares woodenly at you while trying to pick the option that leads to "knock you over the head and drag you to the basement."
Had I more time, or the desire to spend more than $8 at a time renting games, but grown-up decisions dictated that I had to make a tough choice. The problem of choosing between two stellar games is hardly a problem at all, though, and either one would have satisfied my gamerly cravings to top-tier software. Just, don't make me decide which of my children is my favorite again until November, okay?
Anyway, now that I have access to my Xbox 360 again, I stopped by Hastings to pick up a new release to play in hopes of keeping up with the gaming conversation. To my surprise, both X-COM: Enemy Unknown and Dishonored were available, a situation I hadn’t counted on considering how fast Bozeman’s college student population snaps up new product. Maybe it’s mid-term tests.
What followed was a short, but intense deliberation about which game to rent. On one hand, X-COM: Enemy Unknown: a modern revival of a classic PC franchise that leans heavily on turn-based strategy and micromanaging resources between missions; on the other, Dishonored: the Bethesda game I’ve always wanted to play, with a wide array of options and gameplay choices while still containing sufficient linear focus. It’s like having to choose between Mad Max and Game of Thrones, which, coincidentally, I am also putting off deciding on even as we speak.
X-COM calls to my inner strategy addict, the same one that made Advance Wars on the Game Boy Advance arguably my most-played game for my entire middle school experience, or that kept me hooked on Final Fantasy Tactics Advance while my college roommate occupied our PlayStation 2. The half-hour demonstration I saw at PAX East hyped me up for XCOM, massaging my strategic inclinations and impressing me with it intuitive console mechanics though my enthusiasm has since cooled. Renting XCOM would mean playing it for an absurdly chunky amount of time, though I can think of worse punishments than "playing through an awesome game for a long time =(".
Games like Dishonored turn me off after a short amount of time, thanks to my unfortunate tendency to lock up when presented with too much choice—either that or I get flashbacks to the time I rented Grand Theft Auto IV, played it for two hours, accomplished nothing, then returned it for The Orange Box. I actually spent time with Dishonored at PAX Prime, though, and Arkane Studios nailed the balance between freeform gameplay and gameplay direction. Plus, I want to try completing Dishonored without murdering anyone, something the Bethesda rep assured me was not only possible but completely badass.
I ended up telling the sales associate about both games and realized I rhapsodized about XCOM for much longer than I did Dishonored, so I went with XCOM. I think it's those small vestiges of decision overload that I'm afraid of, or my general aversion from stealth games, that tilted me away from Dishonored, or if my time with the grid-heavy Radiant Historia is driving me to greater heights of turn-based micromanagement. Besides, Dishonored is far too close in narrative presentation to Mass Effect 2; too many dialog trees make Jack a dull boy, or at least a boy who stares woodenly at you while trying to pick the option that leads to "knock you over the head and drag you to the basement."
Had I more time, or the desire to spend more than $8 at a time renting games, but grown-up decisions dictated that I had to make a tough choice. The problem of choosing between two stellar games is hardly a problem at all, though, and either one would have satisfied my gamerly cravings to top-tier software. Just, don't make me decide which of my children is my favorite again until November, okay?
Monday, October 8, 2012
The daily grind: Peace of mind through JRPGs
Fifteen hours is a hell of a long time to stay in a car.
I’ve been on a car trip to Missouri with my family since last Wednesday, giving me ample opportunity to stare out the window at passing countryside, and equal opportunity to be bored out of my skull. I prepared before we departed, though, and purchased a 3DS specifically for the journey, along with New Super Mario Bros. 2 and Mario Kart 7. In light of my new software acquisitions, though, I’m surprised that I’m spending the most time with Radiant Historia, a game I bought nearly six months ago and rarely played before last week. It’s been therapeutic in ways I’ve totally forgotten about in the years since I’ve played a top-tier JRPG. In particular, grinding.
Though quality storytelling is generally high on the list of why gamers love JRPGs, I feel like combat—turn-based, active-time, whatever—is a huge draw for me. There’s something about JRPG battles that feel much more deliberate and methodical than traditional console action games, and that same change of pace brings me to a Zen-like state when I’m on a roll. Unwanted grinding can be one of the most tedious experiences in gaming, but deliberate, chosen grinding makes me feel like a well-oiled experience-gaining machine.
Gaining experience feels good. Most modern games have adopted some sort of progression system as a result; look at this year’s Madden and Call of Duty, both of which feature extensive experience and customization options. JRPGs handle it the best, though, because of how their gameplay is already driven by numbers. If I spend round after round hammering at dudes with 45s and 68s, being rewarded with a big, fat 174 feels not just satisfying, but appropriate. It feeds into the videogame power fantasy, but in a math-y way that feels really damn cool.
Progressing in life can be an uncertainty. Who knows if anything I do will positively benefit me, whether it’s trying to lift weights at the gym or spending time playing videogames. JRPGs tell stories in their own right, but their play mechanics tell another, more alluring one: if you spend time doing something, you’ll get good at it, no matter what. If I can fill up my experience bar, I can improve myself. Bar none. This direct feedback loop of effort and progression rewards hard work, appealing to the Puritanical side of the American psyche.
Plus, it’s just good fun to over-level your party and wreak all kinds of havoc on previously-challenging mobs, you know?
When time allows, the grind-happy side of JRPGs can soothe my jangled gaming nerves. Number-driven power fantasies and decisive ass-kickings are a great way to pass the time—that’s how Pokémon did it, that’s how America does it, and it’s worked out pretty well so far.
I’ve been on a car trip to Missouri with my family since last Wednesday, giving me ample opportunity to stare out the window at passing countryside, and equal opportunity to be bored out of my skull. I prepared before we departed, though, and purchased a 3DS specifically for the journey, along with New Super Mario Bros. 2 and Mario Kart 7. In light of my new software acquisitions, though, I’m surprised that I’m spending the most time with Radiant Historia, a game I bought nearly six months ago and rarely played before last week. It’s been therapeutic in ways I’ve totally forgotten about in the years since I’ve played a top-tier JRPG. In particular, grinding.
Though quality storytelling is generally high on the list of why gamers love JRPGs, I feel like combat—turn-based, active-time, whatever—is a huge draw for me. There’s something about JRPG battles that feel much more deliberate and methodical than traditional console action games, and that same change of pace brings me to a Zen-like state when I’m on a roll. Unwanted grinding can be one of the most tedious experiences in gaming, but deliberate, chosen grinding makes me feel like a well-oiled experience-gaining machine.
Gaining experience feels good. Most modern games have adopted some sort of progression system as a result; look at this year’s Madden and Call of Duty, both of which feature extensive experience and customization options. JRPGs handle it the best, though, because of how their gameplay is already driven by numbers. If I spend round after round hammering at dudes with 45s and 68s, being rewarded with a big, fat 174 feels not just satisfying, but appropriate. It feeds into the videogame power fantasy, but in a math-y way that feels really damn cool.
Progressing in life can be an uncertainty. Who knows if anything I do will positively benefit me, whether it’s trying to lift weights at the gym or spending time playing videogames. JRPGs tell stories in their own right, but their play mechanics tell another, more alluring one: if you spend time doing something, you’ll get good at it, no matter what. If I can fill up my experience bar, I can improve myself. Bar none. This direct feedback loop of effort and progression rewards hard work, appealing to the Puritanical side of the American psyche.
Plus, it’s just good fun to over-level your party and wreak all kinds of havoc on previously-challenging mobs, you know?
When time allows, the grind-happy side of JRPGs can soothe my jangled gaming nerves. Number-driven power fantasies and decisive ass-kickings are a great way to pass the time—that’s how Pokémon did it, that’s how America does it, and it’s worked out pretty well so far.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Shop talk: Writing about games is hard
I’ve been on my path to becoming a gaming journalist for close to a year and a half now, meeting challenges seen and unforeseen, but one I haven’t expected is how tough it is to write about videogames. Specifically, how to write about videogames without sounding like an undistinguished fan site. I do my best to read high-quality sites like Polygon and Penny Arcade Report, but I still have a ways to go before I can stack my works alongside more established genres of writing.
I have high standards. It’s not just wanting to write like imaginary “real” writers; I have a very specific goal in mind. I want to command my words with authority like Roger Ebert, and I want to display my personality while keeping my writing informed like Tim Brayton. My problem, so far, is that I lack good writing habits and a sufficient vocabulary for discussing games. I can write about movies till the cows come home; a steady diet of Ebert and Antagony & Ecstasy have blessed my with a greater understanding of how to discuss movies and, as a result, appreciate them as craft. Yet, despite consistently trying to read gaming articles online, I feel that I lack an academic way to discuss games. Invariably, I feel like I’m spouting off marketing lingo when I launch into a discussion about a game’s features; I blame my years of reading Nintendo Power. Granted, I haven’t given my Game Informers a decent read in a while; I have a mental block on reading print journalism/books/anything on paper, and I feel like I might improve my craft if I can actually sit down and learn by example. Still, gaming journalism lacks a generally-accepted model for discussing games in a scholarly manner—either that, or I’ve sorely missed it so far.
I would much prefer to attempt to write about videogames for a living (cripes! If I think there’s a ton of would-be game journos, there must be way more when an actual precedent for Pulitzer-winning writing exists), but like I said, I have a few hurdles to overcome. Fortunately, most of them are mental blocks I need to push past, but if I want to push my way to the top of the journalistic stack, I’m going to have to find a way to assert myself as a better writer than the average Mario fansite, and without an established model for how to improve writing about games outside of general writing tips, I’m going to have to act like an even more creative schmo than usual.
Still, it’s not like I’m unwilling to meet the challenge. I’m just saying it’ll be a bit of a struggle; we’re still in the days where discourse about games writing is still evolving and improving, and my generation—aka, the guys who grew up reading Nintendo Power and EGM2—are on the spearhead of trying new styles. It’s even more fortunate for someone like me: a new, unique style would be worth its weight in page views, and even help push discussions in reviews, editorials, etc. Writers like Jenn Frank and Patricia Fernandez are continuing to advance the field of New Games Journalism, Simon Parkin and his crew crank out kickass long form features, and Patrick Klepek and Jason Schreier hold it down for hard journalism amongst so much fan writing. The future is more crowded than ever, but now’s the time to try something different and become noticed. I’m just going to have to try harder, you know?
I have high standards. It’s not just wanting to write like imaginary “real” writers; I have a very specific goal in mind. I want to command my words with authority like Roger Ebert, and I want to display my personality while keeping my writing informed like Tim Brayton. My problem, so far, is that I lack good writing habits and a sufficient vocabulary for discussing games. I can write about movies till the cows come home; a steady diet of Ebert and Antagony & Ecstasy have blessed my with a greater understanding of how to discuss movies and, as a result, appreciate them as craft. Yet, despite consistently trying to read gaming articles online, I feel that I lack an academic way to discuss games. Invariably, I feel like I’m spouting off marketing lingo when I launch into a discussion about a game’s features; I blame my years of reading Nintendo Power. Granted, I haven’t given my Game Informers a decent read in a while; I have a mental block on reading print journalism/books/anything on paper, and I feel like I might improve my craft if I can actually sit down and learn by example. Still, gaming journalism lacks a generally-accepted model for discussing games in a scholarly manner—either that, or I’ve sorely missed it so far.
I would much prefer to attempt to write about videogames for a living (cripes! If I think there’s a ton of would-be game journos, there must be way more when an actual precedent for Pulitzer-winning writing exists), but like I said, I have a few hurdles to overcome. Fortunately, most of them are mental blocks I need to push past, but if I want to push my way to the top of the journalistic stack, I’m going to have to find a way to assert myself as a better writer than the average Mario fansite, and without an established model for how to improve writing about games outside of general writing tips, I’m going to have to act like an even more creative schmo than usual.
Still, it’s not like I’m unwilling to meet the challenge. I’m just saying it’ll be a bit of a struggle; we’re still in the days where discourse about games writing is still evolving and improving, and my generation—aka, the guys who grew up reading Nintendo Power and EGM2—are on the spearhead of trying new styles. It’s even more fortunate for someone like me: a new, unique style would be worth its weight in page views, and even help push discussions in reviews, editorials, etc. Writers like Jenn Frank and Patricia Fernandez are continuing to advance the field of New Games Journalism, Simon Parkin and his crew crank out kickass long form features, and Patrick Klepek and Jason Schreier hold it down for hard journalism amongst so much fan writing. The future is more crowded than ever, but now’s the time to try something different and become noticed. I’m just going to have to try harder, you know?
Horror Game Scare-athon (*projectile vomit*): ZombiU
Very few stays constant during game console launches, events fraught with uncertainty and excitement that culminates in a big messaging mishmash, but regardless of who makes the hardware, Ubisoft will be there to try to capitalize on the hype, particularly with Nintendo. Ubisoft has had at least one high-profile launch title for Nintendo’s last home release, the high-concept low-execution Red Steel, and poises to deliver another with ZombiU. The urge to make Red Steel comparisons is tempting—a Nintendo-exclusive launch shooter based on hardware-defining gimmicks, huh?—but Ubisoft’s latest entry in the zombie-shootin’ sweepstakes is actually pretty fun.
ZombiU’s drops players in the middle of London after an unspecified plague morphs everyone into craven, flesh-munching zombies. Players take control one of the plague’s survivors and must find their way to safety through the wreckage of merry old England, killing zombies with whatever weaponry can be fashioned or found. Unlike other zombie shooting games like Left 4 Dead or Contagion, guns are scarce and ammo even more so, and conserving bullets is paramount to staying alive; think Condemned: Criminal Origins but with more undead shuffling. Also unlike other zombie shooters, ZombiU’s characters are quite squishy, only taking a low number of hits or one good bite before keeling over. After death, players take control of another survivor in a different portion of the map, and must track down and kill their previous character in order to regain their supplies.
ZombiU’s other big gameplay hook stems from the Wii U GamePad. ZombiU displays a map of the environment on the GamePad screen, letting players scan for zombies a la radar. Item management is handled on the second screen as well, ranging from backpack item placement to which weapon is equipped, and all of it happens in real time, leaving players potentially caught off-guard for impromptu zombie attacks.
My playthrough started me in an enormous mansion, replete with ornate carpets and fancy wall decorations, reminding me of Buckingham Palace gone to hell. I foraged around the study where I woke up until I found a cricket bat lying under an end table, turning my thoughts to Shaun of the Dead. The Ubisoft representative directed my attention to yet another function of the GamePad: a scanner that reveals potential clues or hidden areas. The scanner lead up to a well-camouflaged maintenance closet and up a ladder, where a totally-not-sketchy air duct stood between me and hidden goodies. My good faith was misplaced, however, as a surprise zombie popped out, screaming and dragging me in helplessly. I beat the sucker down, but not before leaping with surprise.
After climbing down my hiding place, newly stocked with bullets and a shiny new shotgun, I came to an expansive ballroom crawling with zombies dressed as the British guard. They lurched toward me and I grabbed my pistol, not wanting to waste my precious shotgun shells. To my surprise, my undead aggressors than I anticipated, taking multiple headshots before hitting the ground. Not wanting to run out of ammo, I switched to my cricket bat and started swinging like Duke Ellington. A few zombies caught me unprepared, though, and a few stray scratches sent me to the Game Over screen.
I selected to respawn, and I was treated to a short cutscene of a female university student waking up in a different section of the mansion. I adjusted my bearings, found a new cricket bat, and cautiously made my way back to the ballroom where I died. The area was less populated with zombies, but I recognized a zombified version of my previous character sporting my backpack. In what must be one of the most peculiar forms of suicide conceived in a game, I put my dead corpse down and continued on my way, having found my old supplies.
In the next room, I noticed a new breed of zombie creeping in, reminiscent of the Boomer in Left 4 Dead, who wasted no time in sliming me. Not wanting to waste any time finding out what else they could do, I broke out my shotgun and was satisfied with how fast the creature went down. If nothing else, ZombiU does a great job of making the player feel helpless without the proper equipment.
ZombiU still isn’t quite my bag; the controls and shooting feel loose, and I never feel fully satisfied playing zombie shooters (this includes both Left 4 Dead and Call of Duty: Zombies). Still, ZombiU is a fun, survivalist take on gunning down zombies, and I’m still excited to find out more about it, regardless of my own personal biases. ZombiU drops with the launch of the Wii U on November 18, 2012.
ZombiU’s drops players in the middle of London after an unspecified plague morphs everyone into craven, flesh-munching zombies. Players take control one of the plague’s survivors and must find their way to safety through the wreckage of merry old England, killing zombies with whatever weaponry can be fashioned or found. Unlike other zombie shooting games like Left 4 Dead or Contagion, guns are scarce and ammo even more so, and conserving bullets is paramount to staying alive; think Condemned: Criminal Origins but with more undead shuffling. Also unlike other zombie shooters, ZombiU’s characters are quite squishy, only taking a low number of hits or one good bite before keeling over. After death, players take control of another survivor in a different portion of the map, and must track down and kill their previous character in order to regain their supplies.
ZombiU’s other big gameplay hook stems from the Wii U GamePad. ZombiU displays a map of the environment on the GamePad screen, letting players scan for zombies a la radar. Item management is handled on the second screen as well, ranging from backpack item placement to which weapon is equipped, and all of it happens in real time, leaving players potentially caught off-guard for impromptu zombie attacks.
My playthrough started me in an enormous mansion, replete with ornate carpets and fancy wall decorations, reminding me of Buckingham Palace gone to hell. I foraged around the study where I woke up until I found a cricket bat lying under an end table, turning my thoughts to Shaun of the Dead. The Ubisoft representative directed my attention to yet another function of the GamePad: a scanner that reveals potential clues or hidden areas. The scanner lead up to a well-camouflaged maintenance closet and up a ladder, where a totally-not-sketchy air duct stood between me and hidden goodies. My good faith was misplaced, however, as a surprise zombie popped out, screaming and dragging me in helplessly. I beat the sucker down, but not before leaping with surprise.
After climbing down my hiding place, newly stocked with bullets and a shiny new shotgun, I came to an expansive ballroom crawling with zombies dressed as the British guard. They lurched toward me and I grabbed my pistol, not wanting to waste my precious shotgun shells. To my surprise, my undead aggressors than I anticipated, taking multiple headshots before hitting the ground. Not wanting to run out of ammo, I switched to my cricket bat and started swinging like Duke Ellington. A few zombies caught me unprepared, though, and a few stray scratches sent me to the Game Over screen.
I selected to respawn, and I was treated to a short cutscene of a female university student waking up in a different section of the mansion. I adjusted my bearings, found a new cricket bat, and cautiously made my way back to the ballroom where I died. The area was less populated with zombies, but I recognized a zombified version of my previous character sporting my backpack. In what must be one of the most peculiar forms of suicide conceived in a game, I put my dead corpse down and continued on my way, having found my old supplies.
In the next room, I noticed a new breed of zombie creeping in, reminiscent of the Boomer in Left 4 Dead, who wasted no time in sliming me. Not wanting to waste any time finding out what else they could do, I broke out my shotgun and was satisfied with how fast the creature went down. If nothing else, ZombiU does a great job of making the player feel helpless without the proper equipment.
ZombiU still isn’t quite my bag; the controls and shooting feel loose, and I never feel fully satisfied playing zombie shooters (this includes both Left 4 Dead and Call of Duty: Zombies). Still, ZombiU is a fun, survivalist take on gunning down zombies, and I’m still excited to find out more about it, regardless of my own personal biases. ZombiU drops with the launch of the Wii U on November 18, 2012.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
October game scare-athon *projectile vomit*
My friend Abi and I were having coffee the other day when she announced plans to watch scary movies all through the month of October, culminating on Halloween night when she watches The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad. Presumably. The fact stands that, starting yesterday, she will watch horror films for an entire month leading up to Halloween.
She’s not the only one. Movie enthusiasts all over the internet are doubtlessly gearing up for Friday The 13th and Nightmare On Elm Street marathons even as we speak, if they haven’t done so already, and goodness knows how many film blogs are planning George Romero retrospectives. Being a gamer more than a film enthusiast, I haven’t much in the way of a horror fiend, but I am a gamer, and that’s why I’m taking my own Halloween horror pre-game.
Starting yesterday, I’ve taken an impetus to play one horror game a week from a different console generation until October 31. I’m starting with Super Castlevania IV on the Super Nintendo and making my way towards the Xbox 360 and PS3, likely resulting in a playthrough of Dead Space because I lack creativity. Also, Siren would be too expensive for a gimmicky blog-a-thon challenge, but that’s beside the point.
My hope is to play one game for each week and write about it, regardless of finishing status. Of course, if I finish a game early, I may end up starting another; Super Castlevania shouldn’t be too long, knock on wood, and my choice for the PlayStation 2/Xbox/Gamecube shouldn’t take terribly long to finish. I’m leaving on vacation tomorrow until next Tuesday, but I ought to have enough to write about until I return to Bozeman. I’ll kick off coverage tomorrow by recapping a new (new) survival horror game I played recently, so don’t worry about having to wait a whole week before we start discussion games that go bump in the night.
Truth be told, I’m excited; not only is this my first themed blog week, but also my first attempt at watching/playing/whatever a specific set of movies/games/whatever to coincide with a holiday or event. New and fun times for everyone! I anticipate growing more as a gamer, or at least a writer who oughtn’t try stuff like this ever again. Looking forward to the whole blundering process!
She’s not the only one. Movie enthusiasts all over the internet are doubtlessly gearing up for Friday The 13th and Nightmare On Elm Street marathons even as we speak, if they haven’t done so already, and goodness knows how many film blogs are planning George Romero retrospectives. Being a gamer more than a film enthusiast, I haven’t much in the way of a horror fiend, but I am a gamer, and that’s why I’m taking my own Halloween horror pre-game.
Starting yesterday, I’ve taken an impetus to play one horror game a week from a different console generation until October 31. I’m starting with Super Castlevania IV on the Super Nintendo and making my way towards the Xbox 360 and PS3, likely resulting in a playthrough of Dead Space because I lack creativity. Also, Siren would be too expensive for a gimmicky blog-a-thon challenge, but that’s beside the point.
My hope is to play one game for each week and write about it, regardless of finishing status. Of course, if I finish a game early, I may end up starting another; Super Castlevania shouldn’t be too long, knock on wood, and my choice for the PlayStation 2/Xbox/Gamecube shouldn’t take terribly long to finish. I’m leaving on vacation tomorrow until next Tuesday, but I ought to have enough to write about until I return to Bozeman. I’ll kick off coverage tomorrow by recapping a new (new) survival horror game I played recently, so don’t worry about having to wait a whole week before we start discussion games that go bump in the night.
Truth be told, I’m excited; not only is this my first themed blog week, but also my first attempt at watching/playing/whatever a specific set of movies/games/whatever to coincide with a holiday or event. New and fun times for everyone! I anticipate growing more as a gamer, or at least a writer who oughtn’t try stuff like this ever again. Looking forward to the whole blundering process!
Monday, October 1, 2012
My favorite shooter: Battlefield: Bad Company
This generation has been a banner one for shooters. Not that shooters have ever been unpopular in the past decade or so; Halo showed us that gamers will buy the ever-loving hell out of console FPS games if done correctly. Ever since 2007's Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare, though, developers and publishers have been falling all over themselves trying to replicate Infinity Ward's kajillion-selling formula. If the 16-bit generation can be generalized as "the one with all of the mascot-themed platforming games," this one could readily, if over-simplistically, be summed up as "the one will all the military shooting games."
In light of so many FPS games being released even this month--EA's Medal of Honor: Warfighter is supposed to drop later in October--I thought it appropriate to talk about my favorite shooter from this generation, and one of my favorite games period: Battlefield: Bad Company.
Most modern shooters follow a very specific model, the one set my Call of Duty, in fact: follow one or more NPCs through a linear environment, encountering scripted sequences and waves of bad guys to shoot; reach a target zone where Something Happens, usually setting a bomb or defending a drop zone; follow the NPCs to another portion of the map and repeat; occasionally get into a moving vehicle for an on-rails turret sequence. The spectacle is the selling point in games like this, either kicking ass (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3) or boring completely (Battlefield 3) depending on execution, but the formula largely stays consistent from game to game. Think about the modern template for superhero movies started by Spider-Man and perfected by Iron Man; whether it's The Avengers or Green Lantern, chances are that, unless you're Chris Nolan and are making moody auteur films instead, superhero movies made after 2008 will follow a recognizable pattern in terms of tone and narrative content. So it is with post-Infinity Ward FPS games.
Battlefield: Bad Company was made before Jason West and Vince Zampella kicked console shooters in the teeth, releasing a good six or seven months after Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare, and breaks from this formula in several distinct ways. Not that Bad Company is enjoyable only from an iconoclastic position; it's a fun game that I've grown to appreciate more as the method in which shooters are "supposed" to be made solidifies.
The most decisive way Battlefield: Bad Company breaks from other military shooters is its level design. Rather than leading players through a series of watersides, Bad Company put players in a swimming pool, and though it wasn't totally open--some parts of the map expanded as objectives were completed--it gave much more leeway to players on how they wanted to complete levels. Areas in Bad Company were huge, and usually presented several options for approaching critical points on the map. Granted, they were small do-you-take-this-road-or-that-road decisions, but they gave an illusion of choice that complemented Bad Company's wide open spaces and vehicles.
Ah, vehicles. Another feature distinct from Call of Duty and, ironically, later Battlefield games. Vehicles amp up Bad Company's feeling of freedom and increase its destructive potential. Hop in a jeep to quickly zip to the objective, or scour around for a tank and faceroll through the opposition. Vehicles add variety to the typical shooting experience, and Bad Company's sandbox levels make commandeering an armored truck an essential part of play, in addition to being a grand old time.
Perhaps the biggest, in my eyes most important way Bad Company breaks from other shooters is its respawn system. Rather than reloading the game from the last autosave, Bad Company revives players almost where they stand, retaining any destruction or downed enemies from before the player died similar to BioShock's Vita-Chambers. Bad Company never writes over player progress by resetting building destruction or enemy placement, turning it into the most casual lark ever given an M-16 and pressed on to a disc. Far from the tense, high-stress situations in Call of Duty and its brethren, Bad Company invites players to have a good time messing around.
Bad Company's respawn system also accentuates its light, casual tone. With the exception of Bulletstorm (and sometimes even then), shooters are often grim affairs, saddled with the burdens of war and destruction and the lives displaced by violence--a fine goal that is somewhat undermined by the hundreds and hundreds of ammunition rounds spent during even one mission. Bad Company feels tonally similar to goofy action films from the '80s, where even the highest stakes were offset by a light, amiable tone. Here's a quick plot squad to demonstrate: during an unspecified conflict with the Russians, your squad, comprised of Steve Buscimi, Jeff Foxworthy, and Agent Dillon from Predator, accidentally invades a neutral country in search of mercenary gold. Not glory, not honor, not a hankerin' for shooting Russians; gold bullion. Colorful characters, irreverent dialog, and the general sense that no one is ever quite in danger ("Aw, crap!" someone exclaims as a tank rolls into view not five feet away) all impart the feeling of a late afternoon action film on AMC, the sort you shrug and settle in to watch even though you've seen it twice already.
Bad Company had a few other quirks that helped it stand out from other shooters at the time. Bad Company's approach to health regeneration was unorthodox: players' health didn't recharge automatically, but they did have access to a healing syringe that instantly refilled their precious health bar. An unusual method, but one that altered the pacing from the Call of Duty template; rather than hunkering down behind a chest-high wall until my health came back, I would frantically charge enemies guns blazing, knowing that I could instantly recharge if I needed. Not very strategic. Super damn fun. I also appreciated Bad Company's "collectable" weapons, caches of rare guns stashed off the beaten path waiting to reward curious players--finding ways to tangibly reward players for exploration is always tricky, and new ways to shoot things up real good is always a great option.
I just realized I have talked exclusively about the single-player game, something precious little people actually purchase a Battlefield game for. Bad Company introduced me to one of my very favorite multiplayer modes: Gold Rush, simply called Rush in subsequent games because gold is too good a reason to shoot at people. Gold Rush puts players on two teams, one whose goal is to destroy every set of crates on the map, and another tasked with defending against the attacking forces. Teams change roles between matches, giving both sides an opportunity to plant charges and/or repelling invaders with heavy artillery. I am tremendously unskilled at Team Deathmatch, and Gold Rush's objective-based gameplay appeals more to my play style; terrible though I am at headshots, I can defend the hell out of a stationary crate. Gold Rush has since become as standard a mode as Capture The Flag and Battlefield's own Conquest, a development that makes me happy and slightly less prone at losing.
Admittedly, part of my enjoyment of Battlefield: Bad Company comes from a point of place: I first played it during the most relaxing break in school I've ever had, a cozy week during October when I had the time to lazily saunter through the campaign, occasionally pick up a pizza for lunch, and watch movies with my then-girlfriend unencumbered by homework or lengthy respawn times. Still, it was fun then and it's fun now, and I hope EA and DICE can look at Bad Company again as they take the Battlefield series forward.
In light of so many FPS games being released even this month--EA's Medal of Honor: Warfighter is supposed to drop later in October--I thought it appropriate to talk about my favorite shooter from this generation, and one of my favorite games period: Battlefield: Bad Company.
Most modern shooters follow a very specific model, the one set my Call of Duty, in fact: follow one or more NPCs through a linear environment, encountering scripted sequences and waves of bad guys to shoot; reach a target zone where Something Happens, usually setting a bomb or defending a drop zone; follow the NPCs to another portion of the map and repeat; occasionally get into a moving vehicle for an on-rails turret sequence. The spectacle is the selling point in games like this, either kicking ass (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3) or boring completely (Battlefield 3) depending on execution, but the formula largely stays consistent from game to game. Think about the modern template for superhero movies started by Spider-Man and perfected by Iron Man; whether it's The Avengers or Green Lantern, chances are that, unless you're Chris Nolan and are making moody auteur films instead, superhero movies made after 2008 will follow a recognizable pattern in terms of tone and narrative content. So it is with post-Infinity Ward FPS games.
Battlefield: Bad Company was made before Jason West and Vince Zampella kicked console shooters in the teeth, releasing a good six or seven months after Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare, and breaks from this formula in several distinct ways. Not that Bad Company is enjoyable only from an iconoclastic position; it's a fun game that I've grown to appreciate more as the method in which shooters are "supposed" to be made solidifies.
The most decisive way Battlefield: Bad Company breaks from other military shooters is its level design. Rather than leading players through a series of watersides, Bad Company put players in a swimming pool, and though it wasn't totally open--some parts of the map expanded as objectives were completed--it gave much more leeway to players on how they wanted to complete levels. Areas in Bad Company were huge, and usually presented several options for approaching critical points on the map. Granted, they were small do-you-take-this-road-or-that-road decisions, but they gave an illusion of choice that complemented Bad Company's wide open spaces and vehicles.
Ah, vehicles. Another feature distinct from Call of Duty and, ironically, later Battlefield games. Vehicles amp up Bad Company's feeling of freedom and increase its destructive potential. Hop in a jeep to quickly zip to the objective, or scour around for a tank and faceroll through the opposition. Vehicles add variety to the typical shooting experience, and Bad Company's sandbox levels make commandeering an armored truck an essential part of play, in addition to being a grand old time.
Perhaps the biggest, in my eyes most important way Bad Company breaks from other shooters is its respawn system. Rather than reloading the game from the last autosave, Bad Company revives players almost where they stand, retaining any destruction or downed enemies from before the player died similar to BioShock's Vita-Chambers. Bad Company never writes over player progress by resetting building destruction or enemy placement, turning it into the most casual lark ever given an M-16 and pressed on to a disc. Far from the tense, high-stress situations in Call of Duty and its brethren, Bad Company invites players to have a good time messing around.
Bad Company's respawn system also accentuates its light, casual tone. With the exception of Bulletstorm (and sometimes even then), shooters are often grim affairs, saddled with the burdens of war and destruction and the lives displaced by violence--a fine goal that is somewhat undermined by the hundreds and hundreds of ammunition rounds spent during even one mission. Bad Company feels tonally similar to goofy action films from the '80s, where even the highest stakes were offset by a light, amiable tone. Here's a quick plot squad to demonstrate: during an unspecified conflict with the Russians, your squad, comprised of Steve Buscimi, Jeff Foxworthy, and Agent Dillon from Predator, accidentally invades a neutral country in search of mercenary gold. Not glory, not honor, not a hankerin' for shooting Russians; gold bullion. Colorful characters, irreverent dialog, and the general sense that no one is ever quite in danger ("Aw, crap!" someone exclaims as a tank rolls into view not five feet away) all impart the feeling of a late afternoon action film on AMC, the sort you shrug and settle in to watch even though you've seen it twice already.
Bad Company had a few other quirks that helped it stand out from other shooters at the time. Bad Company's approach to health regeneration was unorthodox: players' health didn't recharge automatically, but they did have access to a healing syringe that instantly refilled their precious health bar. An unusual method, but one that altered the pacing from the Call of Duty template; rather than hunkering down behind a chest-high wall until my health came back, I would frantically charge enemies guns blazing, knowing that I could instantly recharge if I needed. Not very strategic. Super damn fun. I also appreciated Bad Company's "collectable" weapons, caches of rare guns stashed off the beaten path waiting to reward curious players--finding ways to tangibly reward players for exploration is always tricky, and new ways to shoot things up real good is always a great option.
I just realized I have talked exclusively about the single-player game, something precious little people actually purchase a Battlefield game for. Bad Company introduced me to one of my very favorite multiplayer modes: Gold Rush, simply called Rush in subsequent games because gold is too good a reason to shoot at people. Gold Rush puts players on two teams, one whose goal is to destroy every set of crates on the map, and another tasked with defending against the attacking forces. Teams change roles between matches, giving both sides an opportunity to plant charges and/or repelling invaders with heavy artillery. I am tremendously unskilled at Team Deathmatch, and Gold Rush's objective-based gameplay appeals more to my play style; terrible though I am at headshots, I can defend the hell out of a stationary crate. Gold Rush has since become as standard a mode as Capture The Flag and Battlefield's own Conquest, a development that makes me happy and slightly less prone at losing.
Admittedly, part of my enjoyment of Battlefield: Bad Company comes from a point of place: I first played it during the most relaxing break in school I've ever had, a cozy week during October when I had the time to lazily saunter through the campaign, occasionally pick up a pizza for lunch, and watch movies with my then-girlfriend unencumbered by homework or lengthy respawn times. Still, it was fun then and it's fun now, and I hope EA and DICE can look at Bad Company again as they take the Battlefield series forward.
Why third party matters for the Wii U
Now that the Wii U’s launch games have been announced, we can start to pick apart the more esoteric, or at least anal-retentive aspects of the list. The most important one for me, and one I pointed out a few days ago: the presence of huge-name third-party games. Call of Duty: Black Ops II. Assassin’s Creed III. Darksiders II. All major triple-A games and, crucially, all gamers’ games. The message rings loud and clear: if you’re a core gamer, you’ll probably do alright owning the Wii U.
How perplexing, then, that some gamers are already scoffing at its third-party support. I noticed a few discussions on Twitter regarding the Wii U launch games to the effect that offering widespread third-party support on such an under-supported platform is pointless, like washing your car during a hailstorm. Why, the argument goes, does Nintendo promote playing Call of Duty: Black Ops II on the Wii U when so many are going to buy it on Xbox 360 and PlayStation 3? What’s the point of coming out with Darksiders II and Batman: Arkham City so long after their initial release? Who in their right mind is going to make the Wii U their lead platform for Assassin’s Creed III?
This kind of thinking boggles my mind for a number of reasons. I suppose this is just a case of gamers on the internet acting like gamers on the internet, but I suppose it hits me closer to home than other Wii U-related topics. You see, I exclusively owned a GameCube from 2001 to 2006, and perpetually felt the absence of other ambitious third-party games, especially after 2005 when developers started running into trouble fitting games onto the GameCube’s 1.8GB proprietary discs. Granted, most of the big ones made their way to the ‘Cube; all of the Maddens and Splinter Cells and, yes, Call of Dutys all got their due on Nintendo’s li’l lunchbox that could. What it lacked were the fun B-level games, the medium-profile games with more modest expectations—games like Project Snowblind, Darkwatch, and kill.switch, none of which are stone-cold masterpieces but added spice to the rest of the Xbox and PlayStation 2 library.
So when I see gamers decrying EA’s decision to release Mass Effect 3 on its newest piece of hardware, I want to get on a chair and shout, “Are you bloody serious?!” I get the mindset that gamers who haven’t played Mass Effect 3 yet are unlikely to suddenly start the series on the Wii U, or that the sort of gamer who would buy Batman: Arkham City will likely have already done so last year. I don’t agree, though, that it’s not worthwhile to have them available to Wii U gamers in general. A console is only as good as its games, and I think Nintendo getting one of this year’s biggest games, Call of Duty: Black Ops II, is a huge move and a necessary one.
Nintendo is starting to move into the present day with an online platform, widespread third-party support, and a controller that can actually support control schemes found on other consoles (the existence of the Wii U Classic Controller Pro completely eliminates the strain of porting games like on the Wii), and I’m super damn happy about every last acknowledgement towards modern gaming. Come November, I’m going to reward Nintendo’s move towards catching up by buying Darksiders II as one of my launch games. Some of this has to do with THQ’s recent announcement of Darksiders II U’s bonus content, but I want to show both Nintendo and THQ that core gamers will buy their core Wii U games. A small gesture, but one that makes me feel nice, and besides I haven’t played Darksiders II yet.
This period in gaming is one of the least exclusive-driven in recent memory, and if Nintendo wants to catch up, they can’t just rely exclusively on their stable of killer first-party games. Somewhere, someone who owns a Wii U will want a big-time multi-platform game, and it’s up to Nintendo to try to facilitate a Wii U version. I know, because I was once the person longing for a widely-present game for the other two consoles, and it burned me that I couldn’t play them. Nintendo can’t leave the Wii U feeling like a secondary machine, the Other Device occasionally brought out to play Mario and Zelda, and widespread third-party support will bury this notion faster than anything Nintendo could pull out of its trousers. Game consoles need games, and so far Nintendo has done a good job of showing that their new baby will actually get them.
How perplexing, then, that some gamers are already scoffing at its third-party support. I noticed a few discussions on Twitter regarding the Wii U launch games to the effect that offering widespread third-party support on such an under-supported platform is pointless, like washing your car during a hailstorm. Why, the argument goes, does Nintendo promote playing Call of Duty: Black Ops II on the Wii U when so many are going to buy it on Xbox 360 and PlayStation 3? What’s the point of coming out with Darksiders II and Batman: Arkham City so long after their initial release? Who in their right mind is going to make the Wii U their lead platform for Assassin’s Creed III?
This kind of thinking boggles my mind for a number of reasons. I suppose this is just a case of gamers on the internet acting like gamers on the internet, but I suppose it hits me closer to home than other Wii U-related topics. You see, I exclusively owned a GameCube from 2001 to 2006, and perpetually felt the absence of other ambitious third-party games, especially after 2005 when developers started running into trouble fitting games onto the GameCube’s 1.8GB proprietary discs. Granted, most of the big ones made their way to the ‘Cube; all of the Maddens and Splinter Cells and, yes, Call of Dutys all got their due on Nintendo’s li’l lunchbox that could. What it lacked were the fun B-level games, the medium-profile games with more modest expectations—games like Project Snowblind, Darkwatch, and kill.switch, none of which are stone-cold masterpieces but added spice to the rest of the Xbox and PlayStation 2 library.
So when I see gamers decrying EA’s decision to release Mass Effect 3 on its newest piece of hardware, I want to get on a chair and shout, “Are you bloody serious?!” I get the mindset that gamers who haven’t played Mass Effect 3 yet are unlikely to suddenly start the series on the Wii U, or that the sort of gamer who would buy Batman: Arkham City will likely have already done so last year. I don’t agree, though, that it’s not worthwhile to have them available to Wii U gamers in general. A console is only as good as its games, and I think Nintendo getting one of this year’s biggest games, Call of Duty: Black Ops II, is a huge move and a necessary one.
Nintendo is starting to move into the present day with an online platform, widespread third-party support, and a controller that can actually support control schemes found on other consoles (the existence of the Wii U Classic Controller Pro completely eliminates the strain of porting games like on the Wii), and I’m super damn happy about every last acknowledgement towards modern gaming. Come November, I’m going to reward Nintendo’s move towards catching up by buying Darksiders II as one of my launch games. Some of this has to do with THQ’s recent announcement of Darksiders II U’s bonus content, but I want to show both Nintendo and THQ that core gamers will buy their core Wii U games. A small gesture, but one that makes me feel nice, and besides I haven’t played Darksiders II yet.
This period in gaming is one of the least exclusive-driven in recent memory, and if Nintendo wants to catch up, they can’t just rely exclusively on their stable of killer first-party games. Somewhere, someone who owns a Wii U will want a big-time multi-platform game, and it’s up to Nintendo to try to facilitate a Wii U version. I know, because I was once the person longing for a widely-present game for the other two consoles, and it burned me that I couldn’t play them. Nintendo can’t leave the Wii U feeling like a secondary machine, the Other Device occasionally brought out to play Mario and Zelda, and widespread third-party support will bury this notion faster than anything Nintendo could pull out of its trousers. Game consoles need games, and so far Nintendo has done a good job of showing that their new baby will actually get them.
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