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The Game Boy: One Step Forward, Modern Warfare Two Steps Back

Nathan Grayson — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 14:30:00 -0600

You’ve probably seen the headlines. They’re pretty hard to miss. After all, when two of mainstream media’s favorite buzzwords – “violent videogames” and “terrorism” – cross streams, things get messy. If you’ve somehow managed to position yourself smack in the eye of the media storm, however, here’s the story: Last week, someone leaked a scene from Modern Warfare 2 in which you, the player, take up arms and gun down some people. As a terrorist. And those people? Innocent civilians who just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And I’m perfectly ok with that. Why? We’ll get to that in a bit.

What I do take issue with, though, is Infinity Ward’s treatment of the whole fiasco. Moments after every videogame blog on the planet’s normal programming was interrupted to bring you this special report, Infinity Ward issued a statement. “Players have the option of skipping over the scene,” it read. “At the beginning of the game, there are two ‘checkpoints’ where the player is advised that some people may find an upcoming segment disturbing. These checkpoints can’t be disabled.”

Which is PR-speak for: “We’re afraid that the mainstream media’s going to tear us to shreds for this one, but we’ve handily built in this failsafe. You’ll never take us alive! Mwahahahaha! *Rockets into the sky using a concealed jetpack*.”

See, while stirring terrorists, innocent slaughter, and videogames into the same stew may initially leave a bad taste in people’s mouths, I think Infinity Ward’s taking a big step in the right direction. It’s a shame, then, that they’re so quickly scrambling to cover their tracks.

Here's why I'm ok with the scene. Quite contrary to what many vocal critics are saying, the scene in question isn’t intended to glorify terrorism. Not even a bit. As your character sprays gunfire into the airport’s mortified masses, people scream and cry. There’s no swelling soundtrack, slow-mo, or utterances of “Boom, baby! Headshot!” from your comrades in arms. Just the terrified, regretful, grief-stricken emotions of a bunch of normal people spilling over and quickly drowning amongst a sea of blood and tears.

If causing this kind of massacre puts a smile on your face, it sure as hell isn’t because Modern Warfare 2 told you that terrorism is totally rad. It’s because you’re one seriously f***ed up individual.

Clearly, Modern Warfare 2’s killing spree is meant to make you feel like the scummiest sack of crap ever to stink up the earth. After it’s all said and done, you’ll probably be sick to your stomach. And that’s great! See, while games like Grand Theft Auto allow players to literally terrorize innocent civilians, it’s all just meaningless violence. After just one tiny cognitive leap, your brain’s performed the necessary mental gymnastics to avoid feeling guilty about any of it. In fact, many players even consider these “rampages” to be the most enjoyable aspect of the series.

Modern Warfare 2, meanwhile, contextualizes its slaughter. Terrorism is one thing, but set against the backdrop of an airport, it creates an incredibly provocative image. So, in Grand Theft Auto, you killed some poor, unassuming sap at a place. Big whoop. But in Modern Warfare 2, you know exactly where you are, who you’re slaughtering, and why you’re doing it. Here, you’re forced – as a result of the societal connotations this scene evokes – to question your own heinous actions. Other games put a gun in your virtual mitts and tell you to run wild. And as you skip through eerily realistic worlds, splattering brains and racking up near-genocidal body counts, you probably don’t even bat an eyelash. In games, ending lives is like breathing. You just do it.

By turning that traditional good guy vs. bad guy shooter scenario on its head, Modern Warfare 2 forces us to reconsider our stance on virtual violence. As a result, shooting people in a videogame actually means something again. It’s not just violence for violence’s sake. Instead, it’s a powerful new spin on our main method of interacting with videogame worlds. I, for one, think that’s pretty cool.

And that leads to why I’m not too keen on Infinity Ward’s decision to sweep the airport scene under the rug as soon as media outlets came a-knockin’. See, for storytelling in games, this is a big, big deal. It’s using one gaming’s biggest strengths (highly immersive shooting) to ignite all manner of powerful emotions within players. And it’s doing it in a way only videogames can – through interactivity. Honestly, when people start hooting and hollering about the “Citizen Kane of videogames,” this is the kind of thing I think of.

To me, this is proof positive that videogames can make unique statements with real world implications. A landmark moment like this, then, should be encouraged and promoted. But instead, Infinity Ward’s tossed this integral scene behind a giant blurred out veil, effectively roping it off from the rest of the game. It’s as though they’re saying, “Ok, we’re going to make an actual statement about war, terrorism, and your actions as a gamer now. But let’s just keep this on the down-low, all right?” Would an R-rated movie skip over its most pivotal moment just because it might make viewers feel uncomfortable? Of course not! Yet for some reason, this M-rated game can’t even look players in the eye when it’s making a statement.

Among other things, this is why modern war games see you clomping into Unspecifiedistan and bringing America-flavored justice to Osama Bin De-Clawed. Because the second videogames set foot into realistic, meaningful situations, developers and publishers start getting self-conscious. Remember Six Days in Fallujah, that non-fictional shooter that raised a stir a few months back? Publishers won’t touch it. Can you guess why? Say it with me now: “Controversy!” Until a major developer or publisher takes a stand against this play-it-safe mentality, mainstream media, other developers and publishers, and even gamers will treat videogames like gutter garbage when it comes to handling real world situations.

And that – sad to say – is lose-lose situation for all involved.

The Game Boy: Killing Millions Since 1857

Nathan Grayson — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 11:30:31 -0500

Batman’s a bit of an odd case, even as far as videogame characters are concerned. I mean, aside from the tight-fitting latex suit and bat fixation (or should I say Bat-bat fixation), he doesn’t kill anyone. Ever. Oh, sure, occasionally he’ll twist people’s arms for info by breaking their legs, but when it’s all said and done, Batman’s enemies come away relatively unscathed.

Of course, when distilled into videogame form, this strict moral code results in a number of strange, oftentimes chuckle-worthy discontinuities. “So let me get this straight: I hit him with a barrage of pointy metal projectiles, stuck him with a grappling hook and reeled him in Scorpion-style, and then proceeded to jump up and down on his chest like it was a trampoline? And his heart rate sits at… something above zero?!” Doesn’t make much sense, does it? And here I was, all ready to talk about suspension of disbelief and how games still have a long way to go before they create truly believable experiences when I realized something:

At least Batman – a purported “good guy” – doesn’t wantonly murder thousands of people like, you know, every videogame character ever.

I mean, I don’t know about you, but it’s just as hard for me to buy an average Joe mindlessly slaughtering a decent portion of the human population as it is Batman improbably beating criminals within an inch of their lives. Yes, the Dark Knight’s method seems nigh-impossible to actually pull off, but at least his character is somewhat believable. At least he’s not a homicidal maniac in sheep’s clothing.

Now, I’m not saying videogame characters should start aiming exclusively for kneecaps instead of headshots, but I think that – when the enemy’s losses start piling into the thousands – games should try harder to justify their body counts. Short of making your main character a criminal (Grand Theft Auto) or a war hero (Call of Duty, Halo, too many other games), developers have crafted surprisingly few characters with dispositions to match their penchants for wholesale slaughter.

And even in the aforementioned sub-genres, few games have managed to walk the fine line between character personality and death. Gears of War comes to mind as one particularly egregious example, with characters alternatively tearing up over the loss of a companion (“He had a kid!”) and – shortly after -- bumping chests over football, bro. Grand Theft Auto IV, similarly, tried to depict a character molded by constant exposure to death and murder, but eventually, Niko Bellic dropped the “I just want to start a new life” act and reveled in his self-drawn bloodbath.

And, of course, you’ve also got guys like the Prince from the latest Prince of Persia and Nathan Drake from Uncharted (who, incidentally, even share the same voice actor) with their rough, roguish charms. When thrown against outrageous odds – like, say, a gatling gun-equipped helicopter – they say exactly what we’re thinking: “Oh crap.” And it’s charming! I love this archetype. But right after flashing a cocky grin in the camera’s direction, these same characters transform from loveable lugs into ruthless murder machines. It’s such an odd disconnect; how can men who’ve caused so much death pretend to be normal, slightly naive people?

Fortunately, a few developers have managed to nip this thorny issue in the bud. Most obviously, Gearbox Software tackled the issue of death head-on with its Brothers in Arms series. Sergeant Matthew Baker and co. witness the brutal sacrifice of a very important ally, and it shakes their whole squad to its very core. (Granted, Brothers in Arms: Hell’s Highway also has a slow-mo kill cam that glorifies the notion of in-game death just as the game’s story is trying to subvert it, so maybe this is more of a case of one step forward, two steps back.)

Left 4 Dead and Halo 3: ODST also at least divert your attention away from the fact that you’re capping enemies right and left by throwing your character – and by extension, you – into sensory overload mode. Through sheer enemy numbers and unsettling aural cues (your character’s beleaguered breathing and shouts of terror, for instance), you never really feel like an empowered killer. Instead, at the end of each level, you just thank your lucky stars that you made it out alive. So yeah, your character may have pulled off an awesome triple-headshot, but you were probably too busy hyperventilating into a paper bag to notice. Now, obviously, both of these games take place in very fantastical situations, but I’d love to see their ideas applied to other slightly more grounded settings.

So, what are your thoughts on death in relation to videogame characters? How do you think the tenuous ties between the two topics could be strengthened? Know of any games or characters that put the examples I listed to shame? Comment! Or I’ll kill you. Haha – just kidding. Or am I? (Yes, I am.)

The Game Boy: Dear Consoles, Never Change – Love, MPC

Nathan Grayson — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 12:00:00 -0500

It’s been nearly four years since the Xbox 360 helped consoles get their graphical groove back, which – of course – kicked off the current console generation. Time flies, doesn’t it? The Xbox 360, then -- if we’re going by Tech Standard Time (TST) -- should now be on its last legs. A dinosaur on its death bed, facing extinction by the meteoric approach of a new “next-gen” Microsoft console. But it’s not. In fact, if Microsoft and Sony have things their way, the current console generation will keep on chugging along for another five years.

Not long ago, for us PC gamers and our beefy, ever-evolving rigs, this would have been a moot point – or even a nice bit of superiority to hold over console gamers’ heads. “Our graphics are prettier than yours! Neener-neener-neener!” But times have changed. PC exclusives are few and far-between, and many are only one mediocre first week of sales away from being ported to consoles (*cough*Crysis*cough*). The large majority of games are unable to take full advantage of PC hardware, because consoles and their aging innards are holding everyone else back. Sorry state of affairs, ain’t it?

And I couldn’t be happier.

Why? Because we’ve finally reached a temporary cease-fire in the war over who can render the most realistic videogame graphics. And so, in order to differentiate their games from the bump-mapped masses, many developers are getting creative.

For instance, lately I’ve been wading through WET, an over-the-top action game from Bethesda and Artificial Mind and Movement. Unfortunate title aside, the game’s chock full of excellent ideas – the greatest of which, I’d say, is its aesthetic. Basically, WET’s a playable grindhouse/pulp film. As you sail through the air in slow-mo and pile up a body count of something around 6.7 billion, punk music blares and your character tosses out all sorts of B-movie-friendly one-liners. To top it off, all the action is wrapped in a film grain, and when your character kicks the bucket, the film reel tears and pops. In between gameplay sections, the game even airs old-timey film-style commercials, promoting things like church attendance, hotdogs, and something called a “Personality Pickle.”

Here’s the thing, though: While WET’s gameplay is certainly enjoyable, the whole package wouldn’t be anything special without its 70’s-era trappings. Instead, it’d just be another of Max Payne’s innumerable dual-pistol-totting, fourth-dimension-warping clones – sans Mr. Payne’s perpetual constipation-face, thankfully. Point is, WET lives and dies by its aesthetic. The game’s many constituent parts are glued together by a palpably pulpy vibe, and that glue is the game’s main selling point. So move over, big men in gray armor – and take your blah-brown war-torn landscapes with you; WET’s taking gamers to new places, and it’s not the only game betting the proverbial farm on an interesting aesthetic vibe, either.

Recently, Gearbox Software announced that Borderlands ditched its paint-by-numbers Gritty Future for a wackier, comic bookish style. Now, this is hardly the first time a game’s ever been cel-shaded before, but again, Gearbox allowed the vibe created by this artistic evolution to seep into its game’s every pour. And so, with a new darkly humorous aesthetic at the wheel, Borderlands’ characters and world are now a whole lot livelier, as are its commercials and box art. Borderlands has taken on an attitude – an identity all its own. And the game wears that oddball sensibility with pride. In fact, as evidenced by the aforementioned commercials and box art, that sensibility has become one of Borderlands’ main back-of-the-box bullet points. It’s something that I, at least, couldn’t imagine Borderlands without. And so, as with WET, the clothes make the man (or woman, as it were.)

So, how do consoles figure into all of this? Well, until Microsoft or Sony decides to fire the starting gun on a new console race, the majority of developers will continue working with current graphical technologies. Based off the eye-popping styles of Borderlands, WET, and games of the like, this means more inventive art styles, aesthetics, and videogame vibes for us. However, assuming the PS4 and Xbox 720 Pop Shove-It up their graphical arsenals along the same lines as prior “next-gen” consoles, realistic graphics will be in vogue again. After all, what gets people all riled up when new consoles launch? That’s right: shinier cars, hyper-detailed skin textures, and – for some reason – ducks.

Here’s hoping, then, that the current console generation sticks around long enough for the paint to dry on this new trend toward unique aesthetics. I mean, no offense, Marcus Fenix and other members of the League of Ordinary Videogame Heroes, but I’m ready for something fresh.

The Game Boy: Mind Games

Nathan Grayson — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 13:00:00 -0500

Videogames have taken us everywhere. Space, the Wild West, the Oregon Trail, the future, heaven, hell, purgatory (Ever played Big Rigs? Yeah), World War II, the apocalypse, the post-apocalypse, and World War II again. You name it, and gamers have probably been there, done that, and gone to Hot Topic to pick up the T-shirt. So, what’s left? Where are we to boldly go without even a walkthrough to guide us? Well, if you’re I’m asking me, I’d say we should forget the rest of our well-trod universe and try picking our own brains. Yep, it’s time for a bit of good old-fashioned psychology.

At this point, I imagine many of you are remembering simpler times, when tales of Rorschach inkblot tests, salivating dogs, and men who loved their mothers lulled you to sleep in your public educational institution of choice. And a few of you might be thinking of Psychonauts – to which I say “good!” We’ll get to that in a little while.

Anyway, games obviously aren’t the domain of stuffy old guys with fancy degrees and fancier couches. However, that doesn’t mean some of the more universal psychological themes can’t find their way into videogames. Case in point: Batman: Arkham Asylum.

While Arkham may be known foremost as the only Gotham prison less effective than a wet paper bag, it is – in actuality – more of a correctional institution than anything else. The game, then, portrays Arkham’s staff members as hard-working ladies and gents who are trying their darndest to crack classic nutcases like the Joker, the Riddler, Scarecrow, and Killer Croc. The player, as Batman, stumbles upon evidence of these correctional interactions in the form of taped interviews focusing on different villains.

That’s not the whole of it, though. As you comb Arkham’s corridors, the facility’s PA system advertises its world-class treatment programs, and practically begs you to visit its website. This cynical, money motivated attitude, coupled with Arkham’s clear focus on treating Gotham’s nastiest villains, would seem to cast a negative light on both people with psychological disorders and the practice of psychology as a whole. Honestly, though, I don’t think that’s the case.

Sure, the game’s not full of posters declaring that “Psychology is the best science ever” and “Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs is totally rad!” or anything, but really, it’s an asylum for the craziest crooks in all of comic-dom. Arkham Asylum is incredibly constrained in that respect, if only because its treatments have to fail in order to keep the Batman franchise’s villains interesting. “The Joker Opens a Legitimate Business,” unfortunately, doesn’t make for compelling reading.

Beyond that, though, I think the main problem with Arkham Asylum’s portrayal of psychology is all in its approach. It’s set in a madhouse. Cool, but that’s the full extent of it. Games, in my opinion, can do better. And some of them have. Where Batman gets a nice participation ribbon for setting its events in an asylum, games like Psychonauts, Killer 7, and Flipside take things a few significant steps further.

Most notably, all three games choose to tackle psychology abstractly instead of literally. The result? Some of the weirdest, most out-there settings in all of gaming. Space hallways and monster-mashing dungeons? Who needs ‘em when you could be hopping and bopping through the twisted mind of a milk man who believes in every conspiracy theory ever conspired? Dreamscapes like the aforementioned example from Psychonauts are canvases for creativity. Unlike the comparatively realistic setting of Batman: Arkham Asylum, the only limits on these maniacal mental mazes are their creator’s own imaginations.

Meanwhile, Killer 7, a (sadly) console-exclusive breath of fresh air from Capcom, took a darker approach, choosing to explore one man’s demented mind by giving the player control of his seven different personalities. Granted, the game did succumb to a large dose of creator Suda51’s (yes, that’s his name) own brand of madness, so the plot ends up more than a little off-the-wall. Even so, however, the game’s aim was admirable, and the always-trendy topic of multiple personality disorder still holds the potential to both catch buyers’ attention and craft some incredibly complex characters.

So, thus far, we’ve got Psychonauts, the cult hit that critics still can’t stop raving about, and Killer 7, a fairly well-known console game. Flipside, though, might not ring quite so many bells. In a nutshell, it’s an indie platformer about a comically happy guy who just busted out of a mental institution. As he skips about, humming a pleasant little tune in celebration of his newfound freedom, the player is treated to a view of blue skies, green grass, and downright adorable baby bunnies. Life is perfect – perhaps a bit too perfect.

See, you were in the loony bin for a reason: turns out, you’re bipolar. How bipolar? Well, at the press of a button, the game’s screen flips, and your gleeful little avatar becomes a spitting, swearing machine of pure fury. The level, too, becomes an entirely different beast, with skies turning gray, formerly harmless bunnies removing their sheep’s clothing and showing their true forms, and trees sporting leaves that look like malformed eyeballs. Of course, switching back-and-forth between happy-go-lucky-land and what appears to be the end of all life is required, as it also alters the game’s platforming areas to your advantage.

As evidenced by the above games, psychological themes and videogames – though, at first, seemingly odd bedfellows – make a great pair. Want to explore a truly creative, all-new world? Also want well-developed, interesting characters? Games like Psychonauts, Killer 7, and Flipside knock out both of those objectives in one fell swoop. Here’s hoping developers take this ball and run with it, because if it only took a few scattered standout games to get things so right, imagine what could be done with a more concerted effort.

The Game Boy: Gamers' Favorite Copout

Nathan Grayson — Thu, 27 Aug 2009 12:15:32 -0500

Unless you spend of all of your time in the basement of the rock you’d have to be living under – never emerging, except for the occasional food/water run – you’ve probably heard something about the recent Shadow Complex controversy. For those who aren’t in the know, though, the story goes like this: Shadow Complex, a Metroid-like game for the rough, tough, gray-loving modern gamer, recently released on Xbox Live Arcade to rave reviews. Trouble, however, soon reared its ugly head when famous – and sometimes infamous -- author Orson Scott Card parked his own float in the Shadow Complex promotional parade, licensing the videogame property from developer Chair Entertainment and writing a series of books that take place in the game’s universe.

So, where’s the problem? Why are gamers tossing their virtual copies of Shadow Complex into their equally virtual Xbox fireplaces? Well, let’s just say that Card didn’t settle down and clam up after he wrote “Ender’s Game.” In fact, these days, when he’s not penning best-selling sci-fi literature, Card puts his silver tongue to use in vocal opposition of gay rights. For example, he's written the following: “The first and greatest threat from court decisions in California and Massachusetts, giving legal recognition to ‘gay marriage,’ is that it marks the end of democracy in America” and "Regardless of law, marriage has only one definition, and any government that attempts to change it is my mortal enemy. I will act to destroy that government and bring it down."

However, as tempting as it might be to crank a patriotic orchestral soundtrack, stand behind a large, billowing USA flag, and rant about tolerance and love (both platonic and, well, you know) of your fellow man, that’s not what I’m here to do. If you’d like to read about that sort of thing, I consider these two articles to be definitive discussions of Shadow Complex in relation to that subject.

No, since this column exists to discuss the Serious Business of videogames, I’m instead going to focus on a particular reaction to kooky old man Card being shuffled into Shadow Complex’s deck. See, as both of the aforelinked articles point out, many gamers already have a pre-programmed, hot-keyed response to the Card controversy: “It’s just a game.” In other words, why should Big Issues matter in a mindless medium like videogames?

Now then, let’s switch scenes for a moment. It’s 2005. You’ve just finished hunting buffalo in an open field with only a makeshift spear and a cell phone that can’t even access Facebook, so you decide to take a load off by booting up your PC and surfing that newfangled Internet thingy. Before long, though, you stumble across a headline that has you steaming. “Roger Ebert says games aren’t art?” you vent aloud. “What a lame-brained [primitive 2005 expletives censored]!” As you stalk away from your PC, the following quote can be seen on screen:

“But for most gamers, videogames represent a loss of those precious hours we have available to make ourselves more cultured, civilized and empathetic.”

Of course, you were upset with good reason; Ebert, in that short statement, undermined the significance of many a great game. But regardless of how misguided Ebert’s opinion was, this whole Shadow Complex business certainly provides people of his mindset with some extra ammo. After all, it’s one thing to defend your hobby when an “enemy” like Ebert is at the gates, spitting insults in your direction like hot fire, but when something like the Card controversey comes up -- something that’s actually a crossroads on gaming’s path to legitimacy -- and all many of us can muster is a mildly disinterested “It’s just a game,” well, why should so-called opponents of Games as a Legitimate Medium believe any differently? I mean, if gamers, the medium’s biggest backers, don’t even believe in the power of games to convey a message – be that a boycott-borne “cease and desist” to a Orson Scott Card, or some kind of wacky in-game zen philosophy ala Zeno Clash, or what have you – then why should anyone else care?

So, the question arises: What do you gamers actually want out of games? Do we want meaningful experiences, or do we just want to shout “Yeeeehaw” and shoot some dudes? Because, as film and literature have proven, there’s room in this medium for both. However, regardless of a game’s intended purpose – entertainment, high-art, or something in-between – it can make a major impact, and we need to keep that in mind. There’s no such thing as “just a game,” and we only jeopardize the potential power of our medium by bandying that phrase about.

If you need evidence, just take another hard look at Shadow Complex. The game itself is fairly mindless entertainment, but Orson Scott Card’s tangential attachment to the property has given rise to a number of interesting discussions, even with the shadow of “It’s just a game” looming heavy. The very fact that people are talking is proof enough that Shadow Complex isn’t “just a game.” So speak, people! Speak with your words, actions, or some mix of the two. If you disagree with Card’s stance on gay rights, let him know how that’s given you second thoughts about supporting the game he’s involved with. Boycott, write letters, tell your friends – whatever. Or don’t. It’s up to you.

Regardless, even with small actions like those, you’ll be helping videogames’ cause far more than you would be by telling off smug schmucks like Ebert. Your nerd rage-fueled sermons do nothing to sway these people’s opinions; they’ve all heard this stuff a thousand times before. But if we actually treat videogames as if they’re significant and legitimate – instead of just saying that they are with no real evidence to back up our claims – people will be forced to take notice. Actions, as it turns out, really do speak louder than words.

So then, you know what to do, and I’ve spoken my piece. Now get out there and do it.

The Game Boy: Mundane Is The New Epic

Nathan Grayson — Sat, 22 Aug 2009 12:15:16 -0500

Oh the life I’ve lived. I’ve skipped across the tops of skyscrapers with the ease of a child playing hopscotch. I’ve busted out of prisons that were said to be inescapable, that were patrolled by minigun-toting mechs, among other things. I’ve completed the Kessel Run in under 12 parsecs. I’ve slain Balrogs (of both varieties). I’ve covered wars, ya know.

The moment I remember best, though? I was sitting in a small apartment, on a couch made more of dust than fluff. Minutes earlier, I’d gunned down some 20 mafia goons, but that didn’t matter. She leaned on my shoulder, half-asleep, and we watched an old black-and-white rendition of “To Kill a Mockingbird” on a teensy television. For more than an hour.

And that’s when I thought, “This game is incredible.”

That game was The Darkness, an Xbox 360 shooter from Starbreeze studios. Sure – as I implied earlier – the game certainly had me behind the barrel of a gun (or a giant hell-borne tentacle-snake) more often than not, but even among countless epic shootouts and swelling operatic scores, that mundane moment with main character Jackie Estacado (you) and his girlfriend dozing on a couch stands out the most. It was simple. It was quaint. But most of all, it was entirely believable.

In that moment, I got a feel for exactly the sort of guy Jackie was. Of course, he was no saint. Many of his actions weren’t even forgivable. Intimidation, “necessary force,” and even murder – Jackie wasn’t afraid to sully his hands if it meant getting the job done. But he wasn’t a godless killing machine. He simply hated his enemies and loved his friends. And so, even though, at that very moment, made men were probably sporting itchy trigger fingers that only Jackie’s death could scratch, he chose to take care of his girlfriend.

That hour passed like any other. There were no swoons, no studio audiences going “D’aaaaaaaw” – not even a makeout scene. Just people being people. Still though, more than in any other game, I knew how Jackie felt about his romantic interest. He loved her. Truly and sincerely. I imagine that he spent time with her like that whenever he could. Because, when it came time for me to see Jackie’s true colors, I didn’t have to take some character’s word for it. I actually experienced it.

Too often, videogames just pass us a handful of characters and tell us, “This guy loves this girl, and this guy hates this other guy. Why? Because.” The logic supposedly holding such relationships together is about as flimsy as a young child’s game of dollhouse. It’s like when you reach the epic conclusion of a movie or TV series, and the main guy and gal finally move in for a slow-mo smooch, and all that time, you’re just thinking, “That pairing would never work out in real life.” Sure, two or however many people may have endured some huge or ordeal together, but as we all know, there’s no such thing as happily ever after. Or at least, not the knight-in-shining-armor Disney conception of the phrase, anyway.

Games, though, can let us live those little, seemingly unimportant moments that make or break interpersonal relationships. So why don’t they do it more often? Well, you could blame the relative lack of top-notch writers working in the industry, or you might point the big, bad blame finger at gaming’s perceived macho, explosion-loving, pigskin-tossing audience. After all, why put so much effort into crafting a scene that much of your audience will just write off as “mushy stuff”?

Honestly, though, I don’t find either of those reasons acceptable. Gaming’s potential audience is bigger and more diverse than ever before, so taking a little focus off the Tough Men Fighting and putting it on real character development might even help some games sell more copies. And between Valve, Starbreeze, BioWare, Bethesda, Obsidian, and 2K Boston (BioShock’s developer), I think we’re long past the days when a plumber’s quest to defeat a giant ape with a very real case of jungle fever constituted a quality storyline.

So come on, developers. Anyone can toss together a nice pyrotechnics show and some showy gun-fu, but The Darkness – along with a few other select titles – has proven that games can believably portray relationships that go quite a bit further than the typical “Ugga, ugga. You Jane. You wife” approach. I mean, look at the most recent Prince of Persia game; its main characters communicated frequently, laughing and joking like normal people. Little touches like that are all I’m asking for. But really, with all the talent in this industry, I’d be pretty disappointed if you guys only fulfilled my expectations, and didn’t blow them away.

The Game Boy: Do Videogame Companies “Get” Gamers?

Nathan Grayson — Wed, 29 Jul 2009 12:35:11 -0500

Ever have one of those moments where you said something completely inappropriate – like, say, any number of four letter words – while strolling through a locale where things like that just don’t fly – like, say, your kindergartener’s bring-your-parent-to-class day or a nun convention? You know how it is; seas of chit-chat part, as though diving out of the way of the approaching eighteen-wheeler that is the crushing realization that you just screwed up big-time.

Electronic Arts recently found itself caught in the sizzling headlights of a similar situation. In promoting upcoming hack ‘n’ slash ‘n’ totally ignore the source material Dante’s Inferno, EA thought it might be fun for gamers to take pictures of themselves performing “acts of lust” with its already swamped staff of Comic Con booth babes. The winner of this competition would then get a night on the town with said babes, and some other odds and ends. Yeah. Predictably, the entire gaming community immediately ceased to jabber about other topics, crossed its collective arms, and sent a damning glare in EA’s direction. “Oh, haha, we didn’t mean it like that,” EA essentially said in reply, backpedaling. But obviously, that didn’t undo the damage that’d already been done.

Clearly, EA – in this situation – had its audience pegged incorrectly. Despite our apparent love of some of life’s baser aspects (shooting, explosions, and John Madden, for instance), gamers don’t take too kindly to blatant misogyny. Big whoop, though, right? In many gamers’ eyes, this is just another dark mark on a record already stained by countless instances of greed and sloth. Throwing in lust just rounds out the roster, right? It’s EA, after all. And as we all know from previous experiences, stereotypes and generalizations are always right.

Obviously, then, I don’t think EA deserves all the crap people give it. Nor do Activision, Take-Two, or any of the other alleged hair-pullers and groin-kickers that we call major gaming corporations. The Dante’s Inferno incident does, however, shed some light on the oddly paradoxical ways big companies seem to think about gamers.

See, I would have expected something like this from the “old” EA – you know, the monolithic sequel factory that gobbled up developer after developer, just to feed the flames of a machine that constantly spit out sports games and bad movie tie-ins. But we’re talking the John Ricitiello-era EA. This is the publisher that risked its 2008 holiday season on untested, innovative franchises like Mirror’s Edge and Dead Space, and is now putting its considerable weight behind Tim Schafer’s Brutal Legend, despite many of Schafer’s other games’ sleeper-hit status. Point is, this EA isn’t some brainless, tasteless money-make machine; it, at the very least, cares what people think.

Yet somehow, the aforementioned utterly tasteless Dante’s Inferno PR stunt still found its way out of the gutter and into EA’s stack of “good ideas.” So what are we to EA? Apparently, we’re intelligent and discerning enough to value quality and innovation in our hobby, yet somehow so out-of-touch that misogyny not only wouldn’t get us hot under the collar instead of hot-and-bothered, but could actually be used to promote a game.

EA’s not alone, though. Take, for instance, a recent miscalculation by Eidos. The publisher promised early review copies of Batman: Arkham Asylum to publications if they’d give the game a score of 9.0 or higher. If publications scored the game lower, their reviews would be embargoed for a significant amount of time. Problem: The RAM Raider found out and spilled the beans. One post on Kotaku later and tens of millions of savvy gamers knew what Eidos was up to. So, what’d the publisher – caught with its hand in the proverbial cookie jar – do? It still went through with the whole thing. Now an early Arkham Asylum review’s been published and – shock and awe – the game scored a glowingly positive 9.6. Newsflash, Eidos: gamers see what you did there, and they’re not happy about it.

Really though, during this day and age, that’s about the most despicable thing you’ll see a game publisher attempt to sneak under our noses. And now, it's a rarity rather than a regularity. As negatively as the Arkham Asylum and Dante’s Inferno flubs reflect on major gaming corporations, things aren’t nearly as bad as they seem. As I mentioned earlier, EA’s been attempting to scrub off its old image for years now, clearly in tune with what gamers want out of a game company. And even Activision, our new evil corporation du jour – despite its reputation as a house flimsily built on yearly sequels – ensures that its games are polished to near-perfection.

So here’s the bottom line: Big gaming companies may not always “get” gamers, but at least – for the most part – they’re trying. And it shows, too. Most importantly, they’ve picked up on the fact that many gamers value a high standard of quality above all else, and that we aren’t easily swayed by star power and cheap cash-ins. Sure, these same companies make plenty of mistakes, but over time, major publishers have learned more and more about the people they serve. Conventional wisdom, then, says that things can only get better from here on out. So, major videogame companies, keep up the (mostly) good work!

The Game Boy: Linear Games Aren't Bad – They're Just Misunderstood

Nathan Grayson — Thu, 23 Jul 2009 13:10:31 -0500

Certain sects of the gaming populace would have you believe that linearity – be it in story or gameplay – is a dinosaur, on a fated collision course with the meteor that is freeform game design. After all, who wants to be funneled down the same glorified corridor every time they play through a game – having the same conversations with the same characters – when they could be forging new paths and crafting their own unique stories as they go along? Sure, Half-Life 2 was great, but we’re in the age of Far Cry 2, Fallout 3, and Grand Theft Auto now, right? Sitting back and just watching a story unfold without intervening? That’s old news, a musty relic for people who prefer movies… or even books! And man, those people are friggin’ nerds.

Or at least, that’s what I thought until I played Zeno Clash. For the uninitiated, Zeno Clash is a first-person brawler (think Riddick, but minus Vin “I just ingested a sheet of sandpaper” Diesel’s vocals) developed by the mad Chilean geniuses at ACE Team. But such a quick and conventional description doesn’t even come close to doing the game justice. Oh sure, punches and kicks flow as freely as the teeth you’ll knock loose with them, but Zeno Clash’s real star is its strange, unsettling, and yet all at once cohesive world.

In fact, instead of “strange,” let’s try “downright bizarre.” Zeno Clash’s world isn’t some simple paint-by-numbers sci-fi/fantasy videogame setting. Instead, at first glance, it appears to be the result of paint buckets tossed willy-nilly onto a canvas, with colors strewn all about in no recognizable pattern, yet placed on top of a recognizable shape. In more concrete terms, here are just a few of the things that you’ll see in a typical Zeno Clash setting: bird-people, tables with actual human legs, screaming women in diving helmets, exploding squirrels, women with exposed… spinal cords (Yeah, not exactly what you were hoping for, huh?), and purple trees with limbs that twist and tangle like a broken Slinky. And that, my friends, is merely the beginning.

Zeno Clash’s world, then, is a total escape not only from our own, but from those in which we normally take up virtual residence. But why should you care? I mean, weird is nice and all, but that’s usually that. No substance – just layers upon layers of smoke and enough mirrors to fill a narcissist convention. Gimmickery, plain and simple.

That, however, is where Zeno Clash’s familiar linear structure comes into play. For all its world’s disheveled madness, the game is perhaps the most focused I’ve ever played. It exists to convey certain ideas and philosophies, to make you feel very specific feelings, and to slowly peel back its setting’s layers of madness and reveal the methods behind them. The game’s world design, character development, and plot progression work in tandem to accomplish this, and succeed admirably. However, the design mechanics employed in Zeno Clash’s linear success are – when compared to the game’s industry peers – just as outlandish as its setting.

From the very beginning in fact, Zeno Clash bucks trends with fearless abandon. The game’s opening scene, for instance, takes place about mid-way through Zeno Clash’s actual plot, with main character Ghat detonating a bomb in avian benefactor Father-Mother’s face. Why? No explanation whatsoever. All you can infer is that Father-Mother won’t be too happy when he-she comes to, and – taking a cue from popular avian celebrity Daffy Duck – will probably straighten his-her beak and say “Of course you know, this means war.” So, of course, Ghat runs away. His fleeing, then, sets the stage for a perfectly paced tour of the game’s world from the perspective of a guy who doesn’t find the place abnormal at all. It’s his home, after all.

In the process, you’re treated to a number of flashbacks, which slowly dole out information about Ghat’s motivations, as well as those of other characters. Without spoiling too much, it turns out that Ghat’s literally explosive tirade against Father-Mother resulted from his involvement with a forest-dwelling bunch of loonies known as the Corwids. These outcasts of society, Ghat explains, choose to ignore the requirements of reality. Don’t want to feed or wash yourself? Then don’t. Die in a pool of your own urine. That sort of thing. Ghat, as least, according to my interpretation of the story, admires the Corwids’ sheer will more than anything else, which resulted in his pre-Zeno Clash attempt to join them.

Here arises one of the game’s most interesting conflicts. Whereas most games pit a (at the very least) well-intentioned character against some sort of outward enemy, Zeno Clash sees a main character struggling within himself, as well as fighting actual, physical enemies. Should Ghat choose to live the sometimes fatally lackadaisical life of a Corwid, or should he heed the wishes of his companions and put a stop to all this Corwid nonsense? Ghat’s inner turmoil eventually feeds back into the main plot, resulting in an ending that certainly conveys a message, but doesn’t spell every last thing out like so many videogame endings we’re used to.

As a result, even though you never aided Ghat in any of moral decision-making (you only grab the reigns when its clobberin’ time), your experience with the game is still unique because the game’s story is layered enough to leave room for multiple interpretations. You may take one thing away from the ending while someone else might think the complete opposite. In other words, just because much of the story wasn’t a byproduct of your in-game choices, that doesn’t mean its impact isn’t personal.

Best of all, Zeno Clash flies straight and true, never once veering from its path into length-padding filler. This allows the game’s story and gameplay to arc beautifully, closing the curtains at around the four hour mark. In this respect, it shows a surprising amount of restraint, as the developers could’ve easily thrown in a few more hours-worth of window-dressing, along with a couple more gameplay mechanics, but they didn’t. That would’ve taken away from Zeno Clash’s message and the pacing thereof, and ACE Team knew that. A more open, malleable story, then, wouldn’t work at all in this situation for obvious reasons.

So, what can we learn from Zeno Clash’s success? Well, foremost, that there’s still a place for linear gameplay and story in the gaming industry, if it’s implemented with restraint and skill. Beyond that, each aspect of Zeno Clash is a lesson in itself. Its strange and fascinating world, its atypical narrative structure, its layered conflict and multifaceted resolution – all of these things are seldom used in linear videogames. Obviously, then, with so much potential yet to be tapped, jumping the gun and retiring linear videogame structures would be a huge mistake.