I make reference to this list more often than I like, and so I'm bringing it to a more standalone page, free of the commentary. The more wordy, explanatory version of this list can be found here.
1. Chrono Trigger (Super NES)
2. Pokémon Blue (Gameboy)
3. SSX 3 (PlayStation 2)
4. Super Mario RPG: Legend of the Seven Stars (Super NES)
5. Donkey Kong Country 2: Diddy's Kong Quest (Super NES)
6. Ratchet and Clank: Going Commando/Ratchet and Clank: Up Your Arsenal (PlayStation 2)
7. Need for Speed: Underground (PlayStation 2)
8. Tetris Attack / Planet Puzzle League (Super NES, Nintendo DS)
9. Burnout Paradise (Xbox 360)
10. Battlefield: Bad Company (Xbox 360)
Honorable Mentions (in alphabetical order):
GoldenEye 007 (Nintendo 64)
Lunar: The Silver Star Story Complete (PlayStation)
Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time (PlayStation 2)
Rock Band 2 (Xbox 360)
Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 2 (PlayStation)
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Here, now, he says he's not dead
Whee, I'm alive! I would make an obligatory Portal reference, except I already made one on my Twitter feed, so making another one would be redundant at this point.
For those fortunate enough to miss out, I am on the upswing from one of the most debilitating bouts of illness in my life, a struggle with some freak strain of flu that lasted from Tuesday clean up through tomorrow. I've been in bed all day yesterday and parts of today, ruining what should have been a relaxing four-day weekend, and I'm downing pills left and right, but only when I can support them with food (I learned that the hard way).
Here's the lesson from all of this, kids: GET YOUR FLU SHOTS OR YOU WILL DIE.
At any rate, I should be back on the writing track any day now; having spent so much time in bed, I'm bound to have lots of ideas in the tank, right? Er, right?
Stay tuned for more content.
For those fortunate enough to miss out, I am on the upswing from one of the most debilitating bouts of illness in my life, a struggle with some freak strain of flu that lasted from Tuesday clean up through tomorrow. I've been in bed all day yesterday and parts of today, ruining what should have been a relaxing four-day weekend, and I'm downing pills left and right, but only when I can support them with food (I learned that the hard way).
Here's the lesson from all of this, kids: GET YOUR FLU SHOTS OR YOU WILL DIE.
At any rate, I should be back on the writing track any day now; having spent so much time in bed, I'm bound to have lots of ideas in the tank, right? Er, right?
Stay tuned for more content.
Friday, November 16, 2012
Three hours in: Call of Duty: Black Ops II multiplayer
Call of Duty: Black Ops II exploded onto the gaming scene on Tuesday, with first-day sales estimated between 6.5 million and 7.2 million, according to Game Informer's Andrew Reiner. I am all but out of money for games right now, what with buying Assassin's Creed III, Halo 4, and the entire Wii U console already, so I am refraining from picking up Black Ops II until I can ascertain if it's something I'll play often. That means one thing: renting it and playing it non-stop for a week!
I haven't had the chance to dive into Black Ops II's single-player campaign yet--I like to play through Call of Duty campaigns in one long sitting, and I got home too late last night to start--but I was able to cut my teeth on multiplayer for a few hours. Treyarch has been upfront about making big changes to the Call of Duty formula that Infinity Ward first perfected five years ago with Modern Warfare, and the effort shows. There's an increased emphasis on organized play, with entire sections dedicated to so-called League Play and livestreaming content. For-fun modes like Gun Game and One in the Chamber are segregated to their own playlists, and Treyarch has drastically overhauled the options for class creations. It's a brave new world, or at least an unfamiliar one compared to last year's Modern Warfare 3, which was customary Call of Duty to a fault, and there's plenty of opportunities for thrills unique to Black Ops II.
I'm not sure if I'm having fun yet.
Let's back up and talk about what I played, first. I spent most of my time in Team Deathmatch and Kill Confirmed, my two staple modes from Modern Warfare 3. In retrospect, I should have hopped around to different modes, the better to sample the different flavors of Black Ops II, but I intended to play "a few quick matches" and ended up going until 1:30am. Take from that what you will.
Matches retain the usual Call of Duty feel: twitchy, fast combat where guns are deadly and split-second reactions triumph over raw fire power. Usually. Small tweaks exist, like a bump in player health or the return of the dive mechanic, but shooting guns, throwing grenades, and swearing at campers feels the same as it ever was. As it should be; when you have a franchise as financially successful as Call of Duty, you meddle with the formula at your own risk.
Black Ops II's biggest changes to multiplayer occur outside of the battlefield, in the Custom Class builder. Rather than choosing a loadout of predefined weapons, grenades, etc., Black Ops II implements a new "Pick 10" system, where each new gun, perk, and piece of equipment occupies one of ten slots that can be mixed and matched. Want two scopes on your rifle at the expense of one special grenade? Do it. Feel like you could own face if you had an extra Perk 2? Get it done. Black Ops II's Pick 10 system allows for an even greater level of flexibility than any Call of Duty before it, and the wide suite of options allows for making a personal touch of hot, lead-filled death. In fact, at times I felt buried under sheer volume of choices; I'll need to take time out after work tonight to tweak my class to my liking.
The downside of the Pick 10 system, which feels accentuated beyond past Call of Duty games, is how it puts newer players at a disadvantage. Dudes further along in their attempt to Prestige have access to more and better killstreaks/weapons/all of that than newbies with a fresh box copy. At least Modern Warfare 2 and Black Ops had several powerful weapons and perks accessible right out of the gate; Black Ops II gates many of the better--like, clear-cut better--weapons behind later levels, and useful killstreaks, like the microwave-emitting Guardian, are locked down until, I dunno, later.
A few smaller gripes. Perks are diminished from usefulness compared to past Call of Duty games, replaced instead by attachments for individual weapons. For a dedicated Sleight of Hand-user like myself, that means grinding experience with guns I have only tertiary interest in using so that I can gain the privilege of faster reloads. Also, Scorestreaks, which predictably swap kills for points gained, are a welcome addition for objective-based modes, but most of the Streak benefits are more expensive than their corresponding rewards in previous Call of Dutys, leaving my four-kill-and-done self gazing longingly at rewards I can't earn against the uber-competitive crowd.
Actually, let's talk about that for a second. Call of Duty multiplayer can be the trickiest, most twitchy experience available online since Quake. Everything is fast, fast, fast, and split-second decisions about whom to shoot and from which direction a missed shot came from can and will wreck your win-lose record if you let them. Your wits and sharpened combat skills won't help one iota, though, if your internet connection is too slow. I currently pay for a low-price internet package, and I regularly see Kill Cams of dudes firing at me while I stand chump-like against a hail of bullets. I have no too-slow reactions in Halo 4, at least from what I've seen, and I can only point to Black Ops II's hyper-speed combat for my connection-related woes. Buyer beware.
I still want to dive back in and improve my character, if only to see if the experience gets better (something I used to justify watching four whole seasons of Heroes). The gunplay is fun, the action is fast, and progression still feels satisfying--that's enough to win over a few more hours. I'll also try out a few different game types; Hardpoint sounds like a fun take on King of the Hill, and I want to see if Demolition feels less, er, icky than in past games. If I can get behind Black Ops II's initial learning curve and small quirks, I could have another great multiplayer game on my hands, but at this point it's going to have to do a hell of a lot to wrest the crown away from Halo 4.
I haven't had the chance to dive into Black Ops II's single-player campaign yet--I like to play through Call of Duty campaigns in one long sitting, and I got home too late last night to start--but I was able to cut my teeth on multiplayer for a few hours. Treyarch has been upfront about making big changes to the Call of Duty formula that Infinity Ward first perfected five years ago with Modern Warfare, and the effort shows. There's an increased emphasis on organized play, with entire sections dedicated to so-called League Play and livestreaming content. For-fun modes like Gun Game and One in the Chamber are segregated to their own playlists, and Treyarch has drastically overhauled the options for class creations. It's a brave new world, or at least an unfamiliar one compared to last year's Modern Warfare 3, which was customary Call of Duty to a fault, and there's plenty of opportunities for thrills unique to Black Ops II.
I'm not sure if I'm having fun yet.
Let's back up and talk about what I played, first. I spent most of my time in Team Deathmatch and Kill Confirmed, my two staple modes from Modern Warfare 3. In retrospect, I should have hopped around to different modes, the better to sample the different flavors of Black Ops II, but I intended to play "a few quick matches" and ended up going until 1:30am. Take from that what you will.
Matches retain the usual Call of Duty feel: twitchy, fast combat where guns are deadly and split-second reactions triumph over raw fire power. Usually. Small tweaks exist, like a bump in player health or the return of the dive mechanic, but shooting guns, throwing grenades, and swearing at campers feels the same as it ever was. As it should be; when you have a franchise as financially successful as Call of Duty, you meddle with the formula at your own risk.
Black Ops II's biggest changes to multiplayer occur outside of the battlefield, in the Custom Class builder. Rather than choosing a loadout of predefined weapons, grenades, etc., Black Ops II implements a new "Pick 10" system, where each new gun, perk, and piece of equipment occupies one of ten slots that can be mixed and matched. Want two scopes on your rifle at the expense of one special grenade? Do it. Feel like you could own face if you had an extra Perk 2? Get it done. Black Ops II's Pick 10 system allows for an even greater level of flexibility than any Call of Duty before it, and the wide suite of options allows for making a personal touch of hot, lead-filled death. In fact, at times I felt buried under sheer volume of choices; I'll need to take time out after work tonight to tweak my class to my liking.
The downside of the Pick 10 system, which feels accentuated beyond past Call of Duty games, is how it puts newer players at a disadvantage. Dudes further along in their attempt to Prestige have access to more and better killstreaks/weapons/all of that than newbies with a fresh box copy. At least Modern Warfare 2 and Black Ops had several powerful weapons and perks accessible right out of the gate; Black Ops II gates many of the better--like, clear-cut better--weapons behind later levels, and useful killstreaks, like the microwave-emitting Guardian, are locked down until, I dunno, later.
A few smaller gripes. Perks are diminished from usefulness compared to past Call of Duty games, replaced instead by attachments for individual weapons. For a dedicated Sleight of Hand-user like myself, that means grinding experience with guns I have only tertiary interest in using so that I can gain the privilege of faster reloads. Also, Scorestreaks, which predictably swap kills for points gained, are a welcome addition for objective-based modes, but most of the Streak benefits are more expensive than their corresponding rewards in previous Call of Dutys, leaving my four-kill-and-done self gazing longingly at rewards I can't earn against the uber-competitive crowd.
Actually, let's talk about that for a second. Call of Duty multiplayer can be the trickiest, most twitchy experience available online since Quake. Everything is fast, fast, fast, and split-second decisions about whom to shoot and from which direction a missed shot came from can and will wreck your win-lose record if you let them. Your wits and sharpened combat skills won't help one iota, though, if your internet connection is too slow. I currently pay for a low-price internet package, and I regularly see Kill Cams of dudes firing at me while I stand chump-like against a hail of bullets. I have no too-slow reactions in Halo 4, at least from what I've seen, and I can only point to Black Ops II's hyper-speed combat for my connection-related woes. Buyer beware.
I still want to dive back in and improve my character, if only to see if the experience gets better (something I used to justify watching four whole seasons of Heroes). The gunplay is fun, the action is fast, and progression still feels satisfying--that's enough to win over a few more hours. I'll also try out a few different game types; Hardpoint sounds like a fun take on King of the Hill, and I want to see if Demolition feels less, er, icky than in past games. If I can get behind Black Ops II's initial learning curve and small quirks, I could have another great multiplayer game on my hands, but at this point it's going to have to do a hell of a lot to wrest the crown away from Halo 4.
Friday, November 2, 2012
This is what I'm talking about
Russ Pitts put out an update on Twitter this afternoon about his new project to help geeks with depression, and I tweeted him a link to the post I wrote on Wednesday, the one about the response to his initial call and how awesome it made me feel. I hoped he would read it and take comfort in knowing that his initiatives were already doing good--hell, I wouldn't have minded a tweet back saying, "Thanks for sharing this," or something. What I did not expect was for him to retweet my silly ol' personal blog out to all of his followers, and I certainly didn't expect to receive kind, encouraging words from other members of the gaming press. But that's exactly what happened, and it made my afternoon on a level you likely wouldn't believe.
This is what I was talking about when I talked about how games writers band together.
For the record, I've been feeling better about myself for a little while, now. Sure, I get a little freaked out when I think about the myriad choices I "could" be making to help me advance into the games-writing field, but I've learned to turn on the blinders when that feeling comes up and follow my heart. I've made progress, slowly but surely, and I don't want to belittle the real forward momentum I've gained since I decided to start this journey last year by fruitlessly suggesting that I "could" be doing better. It doesn't help, and I've been happier trying to tune it out.
I wrote what I wrote to remind myself, if I get back to that unhappy place, that there's a way out. It's funny; whenever I try to sit down and talk out my real "issues," I end up downplaying them for my friends or counselor or what have you. It's like I don't want to get them down, so I assure them that it's not that bad. What I wrote the other night wasn't necessarily representative of my mental state all of the time, but I wanted to have written proof, a reference of how low I can get--it makes it easier to identify with myself when I'm ready to climb out. True healing comes from confronting your own demons, and I wanted to lay it out for myself on the page so I can face it down when the time comes.
I want to thank everyone who wrote to me and offered me the opportunity to talk. You don't know how much it means to know that, small as I am with only voulunteer sites and no paid articles to my name, you all made yourselves known and offered your hand in support. You are all incredible. You are the reason I do this. Well, apart from writing, but anyone with a Wordpress account can write--you make it possible for me to keep striving when I'm feeling bleak, and you're damn certain that you can count on me if ever you are in need. No bullshit--I will be there for you when you call, because that's how we do around here.
Ever since my first experience at a gaming event as a member of the press, I was blown away by how inviting and accepting everyone I met was. PR persons, game journos, everyone was too excited to see me poke my head into the ring, and I the camaraderie I experienced spending time with other cool dudes and dudettes who love writing and love video games is irreplaceable. In the spirit of thanks that I'm feeling right now, please let me extend my gratitude to everyone whom I've spent time with in the games-writing circle. Know that you have a Randy Newman-esque friend in me, and I will go to bat for you any time, anywhere. You're all awesome, every one of you, and it's a privilege to look forward to the next time we'll share a drink or exchange nostalgia-fueled debates over Sonic vs. Mario.
My sincerest thanks to the following persons:
Phil Kollar
Susan Arendt
Russ Pitts
A.J. Glasser
Justin McElroy
Justin Amirkhani
Andrew Hayward
Andrea Rene
Jessica Villareal
Cortney Zamm
Nick Chester
Annette Gonzalez
Eric Pope
Aaron Trites
Fish McGill
Jandreau
Jason Schreier
Steve Haske
Rob Rath
Steve Watts
Britton Peele
Scott Nichols
Tim Turi
Jim Reilly
Robin Kunimune
Alex Rubens
Tina Amini
Seán O'Sullivan
Ryan Morgan
Andrew Groen
Marc Lynch
Nate Hales
Andrew Whipple III
Linford Butler
If I missed anyone, I apologize; I just came back from a screening of Wreck-It Ralph, and my head's in all sorts of giddy places. You all inspire me, and just knowing that awesome folks like you are waiting for me when I finally make it--hell, on the way there!--gives me drive and focus.
PAX showed me how warm and inviting the games-writing industry is; you all confirmed it for me. Please let me know if I can do anything for you, and thank you again.
This is what I was talking about when I talked about how games writers band together.
For the record, I've been feeling better about myself for a little while, now. Sure, I get a little freaked out when I think about the myriad choices I "could" be making to help me advance into the games-writing field, but I've learned to turn on the blinders when that feeling comes up and follow my heart. I've made progress, slowly but surely, and I don't want to belittle the real forward momentum I've gained since I decided to start this journey last year by fruitlessly suggesting that I "could" be doing better. It doesn't help, and I've been happier trying to tune it out.
I wrote what I wrote to remind myself, if I get back to that unhappy place, that there's a way out. It's funny; whenever I try to sit down and talk out my real "issues," I end up downplaying them for my friends or counselor or what have you. It's like I don't want to get them down, so I assure them that it's not that bad. What I wrote the other night wasn't necessarily representative of my mental state all of the time, but I wanted to have written proof, a reference of how low I can get--it makes it easier to identify with myself when I'm ready to climb out. True healing comes from confronting your own demons, and I wanted to lay it out for myself on the page so I can face it down when the time comes.
I want to thank everyone who wrote to me and offered me the opportunity to talk. You don't know how much it means to know that, small as I am with only voulunteer sites and no paid articles to my name, you all made yourselves known and offered your hand in support. You are all incredible. You are the reason I do this. Well, apart from writing, but anyone with a Wordpress account can write--you make it possible for me to keep striving when I'm feeling bleak, and you're damn certain that you can count on me if ever you are in need. No bullshit--I will be there for you when you call, because that's how we do around here.
Ever since my first experience at a gaming event as a member of the press, I was blown away by how inviting and accepting everyone I met was. PR persons, game journos, everyone was too excited to see me poke my head into the ring, and I the camaraderie I experienced spending time with other cool dudes and dudettes who love writing and love video games is irreplaceable. In the spirit of thanks that I'm feeling right now, please let me extend my gratitude to everyone whom I've spent time with in the games-writing circle. Know that you have a Randy Newman-esque friend in me, and I will go to bat for you any time, anywhere. You're all awesome, every one of you, and it's a privilege to look forward to the next time we'll share a drink or exchange nostalgia-fueled debates over Sonic vs. Mario.
My sincerest thanks to the following persons:
Phil Kollar
Susan Arendt
Russ Pitts
A.J. Glasser
Justin McElroy
Justin Amirkhani
Andrew Hayward
Andrea Rene
Jessica Villareal
Cortney Zamm
Nick Chester
Annette Gonzalez
Eric Pope
Aaron Trites
Fish McGill
Jandreau
Jason Schreier
Steve Haske
Rob Rath
Steve Watts
Britton Peele
Scott Nichols
Tim Turi
Jim Reilly
Robin Kunimune
Alex Rubens
Tina Amini
Seán O'Sullivan
Ryan Morgan
Andrew Groen
Marc Lynch
Nate Hales
Andrew Whipple III
Linford Butler
If I missed anyone, I apologize; I just came back from a screening of Wreck-It Ralph, and my head's in all sorts of giddy places. You all inspire me, and just knowing that awesome folks like you are waiting for me when I finally make it--hell, on the way there!--gives me drive and focus.
PAX showed me how warm and inviting the games-writing industry is; you all confirmed it for me. Please let me know if I can do anything for you, and thank you again.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
We're all in this together (no, really)
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.
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.
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.
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