The hot topic among some of the leading gaming sites the last couple weeks has been the inevitable ascendance of radical new business models in the video game industry. Gaming luminaries like Electronic Arts COO Peter Moore have gone on record to say that the industry is shifting toward a fragmented, multi-model approach that will bring millions of new and uninitiated gamers into the fold through micro-transactions, free-to-play distribution and social gaming.
The transition is underway and can’t be stopped, they proclaim.
For the record, a paradigm shift that profound scares the bejeezus out of me, and I think there are plenty of valid concerns gamers should have about the industry’s current growing pains. But there are countless outlets on the interwebs in a better position to read the tea leaves than I am, so I’ll leave the speculation to them.
Instead, I want to focus on how all this rampant change in the industry has affected my own personal gaming habits – and, I suspect, the gaming habits of many other regular joes like me who cut their teeth on classic gaming consoles. The constant online chatter regarding social gaming, micro-transactions and digital distribution has inspired me to rediscover the great games of generations past – most notably on the Sega Genesis – when none of that crap mattered. My turn toward retro gaming arose directly from a growing sense that the video game industry is morphing into something I don’t recognize, and classic gaming provides a safe harbor when the winds of uncertainty become too treacherous.
It was that sort of motivation that led me to unearth my old Sega Genesis from my parents’ basement a few weeks ago. I was yearning for a simpler time when you bought a cartridge and that was that. No patches, no downloads, no online component whatsoever. You want multiplayer? Then plug in an extra controller and have a friend come over. These 16-bit machines were elegant consoles for a more civilized age.
But it was with some serious trepidation that I plugged in my 20-year-old Genesis and flipped the power switch. What if the games that revolutionized my childhood and made me the gamer I am today didn’t hold up decades later? What if all the cinematic , AAA epics of the current generation had ruined my ability to enjoy 16-bit sprites and 2D graphics?
Somewhere around four seconds into the Emerald Hill Zone of Sonic the Hedgehog 2, however, all my fears melted away. A great game is a great game, regardless of the hardware you’re running it on. Mortal Kombat, Altered Beast, NBA Jam. Every cart I plugged in was like pure gaming nirvana injected straight into my veins. It was just what I needed to escape from the constantly shifting landscape of modern video games.
Look, I realize that this whole expedition into the retro gaming world was fueled by nostalgia, and I know this piece is veering dangerously close to “everything was better back in my day” territory. But take a quick stroll around the web. Retro gaming is absolutely everywhere! Some of the biggest gaming sites have regular features devoted to replaying old-school titles. There are countless videos on YouTube right now of collectors showing off entire rooms devoted to the classics. Some of them contain serious advice for new retro gamers (is that even a thing?), and some of them are hilarious spoofs.
All I’m saying is that it’s no coincidence that retro gaming is picking up steam at the same time that the video game industry is plunging into a chaotic transition that could result in a shift in its basic business model. There’s still a lot of fun to be had in those old consoles if you can dig them out of your parents’ attics. Unlike the current state of the industry, the old standbys are known quantities. You get all the fun with none of the uncertainty.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Friday, June 15, 2012
Is It Just Me, Or is Court of Owls Overstaying Its Welcome Just a Teensy Bit?
This post will be the first entry in a series I’m going to call “Is it just me…?,” in which I'll take on a popular issue among gamers and comic book fans and argue a point that runs counter to the prevailing wisdom on that particular topic. Today, I’m going to focus on Scott Snyder and Greg Capullo’s critically acclaimed run on Batman.
This week saw the release of the tenth issue of the title since DC relaunched its entire line last year. I’m not going to argue with the common sentiment that each one of those 10 issues has been technically excellent. To do so would be folly. The writing for this series has been consistently intense, smart and well paced. And the art oozes with atmosphere and character while matching the writing style perfectly. Snyder and Capullo deserve the accolades they’re receiving, and I’m especially impressed that each issue has featured the same creative team.
However, I question the wisdom of opening the relaunched Batman flagship title with an 11-issue story arc. That’s almost a year’s worth of story and a lot of bandwidth to devote to setting up one new villain. I’ve been enjoying each issue as it comes out, but I’ve started getting a little itchy for a new story right around issue 7 or 8.
This speaks to a function of serialized fiction that I think is often overlooked among comic book fans: The time it takes to tell a story matters. I have no doubt that sitting down and reading the entire Court of Owls arc in one go would be a tremendously rewarding comic book experience. And, indeed, I think DC tried to address this concern by releasing the first six issues in a collected edition. They’re trying to sell this story as two consecutive story arcs rather than one giant story arc, but that doesn’t work for me. Every issue has involved Batman discovering and taking on the Court of Owls. The separation between the first trade and second trade is more akin to a break between acts in a single story than a break between two separate stories.
But, as a collector of individual issues, how DC markets the collected trades doesn’t matter to me. I’ve put down my $3.99 every month and waited weeks from one issue to the next to find out what happens. It’s a commitment both in money and time, and any title that takes nearly a year to tell a complete story had better pack one heckuva punch.
This topic makes me think back a few years to when the X-books were in the middle of their Messiah Complex crossover. It was a 12-issue series, but it shipped every week. Even though it was a long arc with a lot of issues, the weekly scheduling livened up the pacing. Contrast that with the Ed Brubaker’s Rise and Fall of the Shi-ar Empire, a story arc that ate up 12 issues of Uncanny X-Men on its regular schedule. That arc seemed interminable, and I couldn’t wait for it to end so the book could move on to something new.
That’s sort of how I’m feeling about the Court of Owls now. On the one hand, I appreciate the craft on display by Snyder and Capullo, and you’ll never hear me argue that this isn’t a well-made book. On the other hand, I’m growing impatient to find out what else these two talented creators have in store for us.
This week saw the release of the tenth issue of the title since DC relaunched its entire line last year. I’m not going to argue with the common sentiment that each one of those 10 issues has been technically excellent. To do so would be folly. The writing for this series has been consistently intense, smart and well paced. And the art oozes with atmosphere and character while matching the writing style perfectly. Snyder and Capullo deserve the accolades they’re receiving, and I’m especially impressed that each issue has featured the same creative team.
However, I question the wisdom of opening the relaunched Batman flagship title with an 11-issue story arc. That’s almost a year’s worth of story and a lot of bandwidth to devote to setting up one new villain. I’ve been enjoying each issue as it comes out, but I’ve started getting a little itchy for a new story right around issue 7 or 8.
This speaks to a function of serialized fiction that I think is often overlooked among comic book fans: The time it takes to tell a story matters. I have no doubt that sitting down and reading the entire Court of Owls arc in one go would be a tremendously rewarding comic book experience. And, indeed, I think DC tried to address this concern by releasing the first six issues in a collected edition. They’re trying to sell this story as two consecutive story arcs rather than one giant story arc, but that doesn’t work for me. Every issue has involved Batman discovering and taking on the Court of Owls. The separation between the first trade and second trade is more akin to a break between acts in a single story than a break between two separate stories.
But, as a collector of individual issues, how DC markets the collected trades doesn’t matter to me. I’ve put down my $3.99 every month and waited weeks from one issue to the next to find out what happens. It’s a commitment both in money and time, and any title that takes nearly a year to tell a complete story had better pack one heckuva punch.
This topic makes me think back a few years to when the X-books were in the middle of their Messiah Complex crossover. It was a 12-issue series, but it shipped every week. Even though it was a long arc with a lot of issues, the weekly scheduling livened up the pacing. Contrast that with the Ed Brubaker’s Rise and Fall of the Shi-ar Empire, a story arc that ate up 12 issues of Uncanny X-Men on its regular schedule. That arc seemed interminable, and I couldn’t wait for it to end so the book could move on to something new.
That’s sort of how I’m feeling about the Court of Owls now. On the one hand, I appreciate the craft on display by Snyder and Capullo, and you’ll never hear me argue that this isn’t a well-made book. On the other hand, I’m growing impatient to find out what else these two talented creators have in store for us.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Baby’s First Batman
Last Wednesday, my local comics shop was handing out free promotional copies of previews for Spider-Men, an upcoming spider-themed event from Marvel. Since it was free and more or less worthless to me, I plopped my 9-month-old son on my lap and gave him the comic to see how he would respond to the pretty Spider-Man pictures.
He showed a passing interest in the art, if for no other reason than all the bright colors. But that didn’t stop him from thoroughly destroying the book with scarcely any effort. In seconds flat, he’d torn the cover off the comic and was wiping his chubby little drool-covered fingers all over the interior pages. If not for my watchful parental eye, I have no doubt he would have tried to cram the whole thing in his mouth.
It was precisely the reaction I’d anticipated and the reason why I don’t try to slip in some funny books when I’m reading night-night stories to him. The children’s books I read to him are made out of thick paper stock that can stand up to all the tearing, biting and copious amounts of drool that a cranky infant can muster. Comic books, for all their many virtues, are not, as a general rule, solidly made. I shudder to think what would happen if I left my son alone with my collection of floppies for any length of time. It would be a bloodbath – an adorable, sticky, gibberish-speaking bloodbath.
My experiment with the free promo book got me thinking: has Marvel or DC ever published books geared toward infants and toddlers? After a cursory search around the Interwebs, I haven’t found what I’m visualizing. Both publishers have done pop-up books, but my son would tear them to shreds – and, in any event, they’re marketed to kids in 3rd grade or older. I know both companies have had varying success with comics geared toward younger readers, but that’s not what I’m talking about either. I’m thinking along the lines of Baby’s First Batman.
Imagine this: Marvel could produce a Spider-Man book for toddlers in which our Friendly Neighborhood Wall-Crawler goes over numbers, or shapes or colors using characters and locations from the Marvel U. Print the books on the heavy-duty paper most kids books are made out of so it can withstand the abuse. And make the art cute and unique (Skottie Young was born for this project).
If that’s a hit, have the Fantastic Four do a family-themed book in which Reed and Sue go over basic science stuff with Franklin and Valeria. You’re sitting on a gold mine, Marvel!
It’s possible, however unlikely, that such a product may already exist and my nigh infallible Internetz skillz failed to find it during the 15 minutes of research I conducted before writing this. If so, would someone please tell me where I can fork over my money to buy these books?
If, on the other hand, the little kiddie superhero market remains untapped, I’ll accept half the profits from whichever company is first to fill the void since I came up with the idea. Marvel or DC, you can make your checks payable to Plain of Peril. I’m waiting.
He showed a passing interest in the art, if for no other reason than all the bright colors. But that didn’t stop him from thoroughly destroying the book with scarcely any effort. In seconds flat, he’d torn the cover off the comic and was wiping his chubby little drool-covered fingers all over the interior pages. If not for my watchful parental eye, I have no doubt he would have tried to cram the whole thing in his mouth.
It was precisely the reaction I’d anticipated and the reason why I don’t try to slip in some funny books when I’m reading night-night stories to him. The children’s books I read to him are made out of thick paper stock that can stand up to all the tearing, biting and copious amounts of drool that a cranky infant can muster. Comic books, for all their many virtues, are not, as a general rule, solidly made. I shudder to think what would happen if I left my son alone with my collection of floppies for any length of time. It would be a bloodbath – an adorable, sticky, gibberish-speaking bloodbath.
My experiment with the free promo book got me thinking: has Marvel or DC ever published books geared toward infants and toddlers? After a cursory search around the Interwebs, I haven’t found what I’m visualizing. Both publishers have done pop-up books, but my son would tear them to shreds – and, in any event, they’re marketed to kids in 3rd grade or older. I know both companies have had varying success with comics geared toward younger readers, but that’s not what I’m talking about either. I’m thinking along the lines of Baby’s First Batman.
Imagine this: Marvel could produce a Spider-Man book for toddlers in which our Friendly Neighborhood Wall-Crawler goes over numbers, or shapes or colors using characters and locations from the Marvel U. Print the books on the heavy-duty paper most kids books are made out of so it can withstand the abuse. And make the art cute and unique (Skottie Young was born for this project).
If that’s a hit, have the Fantastic Four do a family-themed book in which Reed and Sue go over basic science stuff with Franklin and Valeria. You’re sitting on a gold mine, Marvel!
It’s possible, however unlikely, that such a product may already exist and my nigh infallible Internetz skillz failed to find it during the 15 minutes of research I conducted before writing this. If so, would someone please tell me where I can fork over my money to buy these books?
If, on the other hand, the little kiddie superhero market remains untapped, I’ll accept half the profits from whichever company is first to fill the void since I came up with the idea. Marvel or DC, you can make your checks payable to Plain of Peril. I’m waiting.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Gaming With the Better Half
It started out as a wonderful way to share something I love with my family. Little did I know the result would shatter my ego into a thousand tiny bits of self-loathing and doubt.
Let me back up a minute. Over the course of my years spent in close proximity to my wife, I’ve encouraged her whenever possible to embrace the way of the nerd. To that end, there have been great successes. To wit, she’s seen every episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation and read every issue of Joss Whedon’s run on Astonishing X-Men. Her favorite superhero movie is X-Men: First Class, and she enthusiastically decorated our son’s bedroom with super hero regalia.
So last year I decided to introduce her to table-top gaming with Talisman, the iconic fantasy-themed board game that’s now in its fourth edition.
I was absolutely thrilled when she took to it like a wizard takes to the command spell. We play one-on-one games several times a month, and she usually asks me to play, rather than the other way around. But then a disturbing trend set in: In a game that relies in large part on lucky dice rolls and drawing helpful cards, she started beating me like a drum over and over again. Like five of the last six games we’ve played.
At first, I just shrugged it off as bad luck. The tables would turn on the next go-round, I figured. But the losing streak weighs more heavily on my mind with each loss, and, I’m ashamed to admit that it’s starting to impact my enjoyment of the game. That’s never been the case for me. Win or lose, I usually just enjoy the experience of sharing a compelling game with friends or family. But my losing streak has completely obliterated my Talisman mojo.
For the Talisman veterans out there, let me illustrate just how bad my luck has been in my recent quests to claim the Crown of Command. In the last game, I had amassed a pretty impressive collection of objects, including the mule and a talisman, while still adventuring around the outer region. I figured I’d scoop up one more strength before I ventured into the middle region and begin my preparations for a run at the crown. Landing on the city, I decided to visit the mystic. The worst-case scenario was she’d turn me into a toad, in which case I’d burn one of my four fate tokens and re-roll.
So I rolled my d6, and bamf! The old witch toads me in a cloud of blue smoke and the stench of brimstone. I played it cool; I’d taken this very possibility into account. Just burn a fate and roll again. So I did, and I came up with the exact same roll. Toaded again, and this time I have to accept the result. So I lost all the killer loot I was counting on to get me through the middle region, and I never recovered. My wife, sensing the blood in the water, made her run for the crown shortly after that. Before I was even able to return to the city to pick up the loot I dropped, she was wearing me down with the command spell.
That double-toading sequence absolutely crushed my gaming soul. At that moment, I hated Talisman with the totality of my being.
It’s now to the point that I’m considering buying a cooperative game like Defenders of the Realm so we can lose together. And from the reviews I’ve read online, it’s really rewarding to play a well designed co-op game with your family. So it’s not like my motives are purely selfish, right? I'm not a terrible husband for feeling this way. Right, guys?
In the meantime, I’ll be right here, stuck squarely between the desire to encourage my wife to share my hobbies and the terror of losing to her for the sixth time in seven games. I feel like the Grim Reaper from Bill & Ted.
Let me back up a minute. Over the course of my years spent in close proximity to my wife, I’ve encouraged her whenever possible to embrace the way of the nerd. To that end, there have been great successes. To wit, she’s seen every episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation and read every issue of Joss Whedon’s run on Astonishing X-Men. Her favorite superhero movie is X-Men: First Class, and she enthusiastically decorated our son’s bedroom with super hero regalia.
So last year I decided to introduce her to table-top gaming with Talisman, the iconic fantasy-themed board game that’s now in its fourth edition.
I was absolutely thrilled when she took to it like a wizard takes to the command spell. We play one-on-one games several times a month, and she usually asks me to play, rather than the other way around. But then a disturbing trend set in: In a game that relies in large part on lucky dice rolls and drawing helpful cards, she started beating me like a drum over and over again. Like five of the last six games we’ve played.
At first, I just shrugged it off as bad luck. The tables would turn on the next go-round, I figured. But the losing streak weighs more heavily on my mind with each loss, and, I’m ashamed to admit that it’s starting to impact my enjoyment of the game. That’s never been the case for me. Win or lose, I usually just enjoy the experience of sharing a compelling game with friends or family. But my losing streak has completely obliterated my Talisman mojo.
For the Talisman veterans out there, let me illustrate just how bad my luck has been in my recent quests to claim the Crown of Command. In the last game, I had amassed a pretty impressive collection of objects, including the mule and a talisman, while still adventuring around the outer region. I figured I’d scoop up one more strength before I ventured into the middle region and begin my preparations for a run at the crown. Landing on the city, I decided to visit the mystic. The worst-case scenario was she’d turn me into a toad, in which case I’d burn one of my four fate tokens and re-roll.
So I rolled my d6, and bamf! The old witch toads me in a cloud of blue smoke and the stench of brimstone. I played it cool; I’d taken this very possibility into account. Just burn a fate and roll again. So I did, and I came up with the exact same roll. Toaded again, and this time I have to accept the result. So I lost all the killer loot I was counting on to get me through the middle region, and I never recovered. My wife, sensing the blood in the water, made her run for the crown shortly after that. Before I was even able to return to the city to pick up the loot I dropped, she was wearing me down with the command spell.
That double-toading sequence absolutely crushed my gaming soul. At that moment, I hated Talisman with the totality of my being.
It’s now to the point that I’m considering buying a cooperative game like Defenders of the Realm so we can lose together. And from the reviews I’ve read online, it’s really rewarding to play a well designed co-op game with your family. So it’s not like my motives are purely selfish, right? I'm not a terrible husband for feeling this way. Right, guys?
In the meantime, I’ll be right here, stuck squarely between the desire to encourage my wife to share my hobbies and the terror of losing to her for the sixth time in seven games. I feel like the Grim Reaper from Bill & Ted.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Of Course I’ll Help You, Silent Hill
Knock, Knock
Be right there. Just a sec.
Oh, it’s you, Silent Hill. What a surprise. Of course you can come in. I’ll always have time for you, even if the inverse hasn’t been true for a while now. Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound so spiteful.
Please sit down. Can I get you something? A glass of water maybe? You look worn out.
What made you decide to drop by for a visit after all this time?
Oh, you’ve lost your way and now you want my help to get back on track? Well, of course, old friend! Of course I’ll help you retake your rightful place among console video gaming’s most innovative and atmospheric titles.
I remember when we first got together. It was over a decade ago. Haha, can you believe that? I was a sophomore in high school, and you’d just released Silent Hill 2. I was absolutely unprepared for your mature treatment of such adult themes and your challenging plot that forced me to question what I was seeing on the screen. For the first time in my life, I encountered something that blurred the line between game and art. I was in way over my head, but I couldn’t put you down from the moment I entered the Woodside Apartments all the way through your heartrending revelations in room 312 of the Lakeview Hotel.
You were beautiful and melancholy and perfect. And I was in love.
But things changed. Didn’t they, Silent Hill? Yeah, I saw the preview for that multiplayer dungeon-crawl sequel. I think you know deep down that you’re making a mistake. You don’t have to say so. I can see it in your eyes.
I mean, I hardly even recognize you anymore. When the next generation of consoles hit, you moved on with the times. Your original developers turned their attention to new products. There was a prequel and a reimagining of your classic original story. You experimented with new combat systems and inventory schemes. There were some successes but way more failures. We’ve known each other a long time, Silent Hill, long enough that I’ve got to be honest with you. You don’t look so good anymore.
But I’m glad you’re here. That means we can start to put right everything that’s gone wrong between us. There’s still time if you’ll just listen to my advice, Silent Hill.
First of all, you have to emphasize atmosphere over everything else. Every design decision – graphics, audio, and gameplay – has to reinforce that gripping sense of horror and tension. Your best tool here is creating the feeling of isolation that pervades all the best Silent Hill titles. That means plenty of fog and plenty of time early in the game where the protagonist is completely alone (think of the first 15 minutes of Silent Hill 2). But listen to me: Resist the temptation to go multiplayer, even at a time when everyone else in the industry is enamored with it. Any kind of multiplayer is antithetical to the feeling of isolation that’s necessary for the atmosphere to work. It shatters the illusion that you’re alone in an abandoned town teeming with unseen evil.
Next, let’s go back to the original map that you used in the first Silent Hill game. That was a full two console generations ago. Every time a game adds a new and previously unseen section of Silent Hill, it strains my ability to believe that all these games are taking place in the same small resort community. Trust me on this. New players won’t recognize the original map, and old-school fans will appreciate the chance to revisit the old haunts. Set your next game in Old Silent Hill for the entirety of the game (but don’t do a reboot of the first classic game).
While we’re at it, leave something to the imagination. Too many of your most recent iterations have told straight-forward and literal stories that leave no room for interpretation. Half the fun of the first two Silent Hill games was piecing together the story through subtle symbolic clues and ambiguous bits of dialog. Let’s go back to a time when every monster and every location held symbolic meaning that enhanced the story. It’s not enough for the monsters to look scary, they also have to say something about the characters, their darkest secrets and their greatest fears.
Finally, here’s my most controversial bit of advice for you: Shamelessly rip off Heavy Rain. No, please don’t leave, Silent Hill. I’ll explain. Just hear me out.
You’re in a really tough spot when it comes to combat, especially melee encounters. Put too much of an emphasis on polished combat, and your players will feel too powerful and you lose a lot of the fear. But no one in this day and age will accept the rudimentary and clunky combat controls of your first several titles. Some of your most recent offerings have forced players to just run like hell from every monster they encounter, which was sort of thrilling at first but quickly loses its appeal if that’s the only option. It’s really difficult for you to find that sweet spot that allows for compelling melee encounters without relieving the tension of feeling helpless and alone in a city of nightmares.
So go with quicktime melee encounters like the ones in Heavy Rain. You could have intense melee fights that would actually reinforce the sense of desperation and weakness that make Silent Hill games more effective. Remember that scene in Heavy Rain where you’re the hot reporter and those masked guys are invading her apartment in the middle of the night? Now imagine the attackers are Silent Hill monsters. The scene pretty much writes itself. You could implement a similar combat system without changing any of the exploration and puzzle-solving elements that are more important Silent Hill hallmarks.
So I’ve told you want I want from your next game. Here are a couple things you need to stay away from.
Don’t use characters from previous installments. Especially Pyramid Head. Additionally, don’t take any visual cues from the Silent Hill film either. I admit, the visuals from the movie were really high quality, and it’s tempting to lift a couple of its design elements. But you should be setting the tone for the movies, not vice versa. Finally, don’t focus on the Order in the next game. You can reference the cult and offer some glimpses into its inner-workings, but it works much better when it remains a mystery. Too much exposure just bogs down the plot of the game.
So there you go, Silent Hill. I’m really glad you came to me for help. My door will always be open to you. If you can get the help you need – finally get your act together – we might be able to love each other again.
If not, we’ll always have Silent Hill 1-3. We’ll always have our memories.
Be right there. Just a sec.
Oh, it’s you, Silent Hill. What a surprise. Of course you can come in. I’ll always have time for you, even if the inverse hasn’t been true for a while now. Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound so spiteful.
Please sit down. Can I get you something? A glass of water maybe? You look worn out.
What made you decide to drop by for a visit after all this time?
Oh, you’ve lost your way and now you want my help to get back on track? Well, of course, old friend! Of course I’ll help you retake your rightful place among console video gaming’s most innovative and atmospheric titles.
I remember when we first got together. It was over a decade ago. Haha, can you believe that? I was a sophomore in high school, and you’d just released Silent Hill 2. I was absolutely unprepared for your mature treatment of such adult themes and your challenging plot that forced me to question what I was seeing on the screen. For the first time in my life, I encountered something that blurred the line between game and art. I was in way over my head, but I couldn’t put you down from the moment I entered the Woodside Apartments all the way through your heartrending revelations in room 312 of the Lakeview Hotel.
You were beautiful and melancholy and perfect. And I was in love.
But things changed. Didn’t they, Silent Hill? Yeah, I saw the preview for that multiplayer dungeon-crawl sequel. I think you know deep down that you’re making a mistake. You don’t have to say so. I can see it in your eyes.
I mean, I hardly even recognize you anymore. When the next generation of consoles hit, you moved on with the times. Your original developers turned their attention to new products. There was a prequel and a reimagining of your classic original story. You experimented with new combat systems and inventory schemes. There were some successes but way more failures. We’ve known each other a long time, Silent Hill, long enough that I’ve got to be honest with you. You don’t look so good anymore.
But I’m glad you’re here. That means we can start to put right everything that’s gone wrong between us. There’s still time if you’ll just listen to my advice, Silent Hill.
First of all, you have to emphasize atmosphere over everything else. Every design decision – graphics, audio, and gameplay – has to reinforce that gripping sense of horror and tension. Your best tool here is creating the feeling of isolation that pervades all the best Silent Hill titles. That means plenty of fog and plenty of time early in the game where the protagonist is completely alone (think of the first 15 minutes of Silent Hill 2). But listen to me: Resist the temptation to go multiplayer, even at a time when everyone else in the industry is enamored with it. Any kind of multiplayer is antithetical to the feeling of isolation that’s necessary for the atmosphere to work. It shatters the illusion that you’re alone in an abandoned town teeming with unseen evil.
Next, let’s go back to the original map that you used in the first Silent Hill game. That was a full two console generations ago. Every time a game adds a new and previously unseen section of Silent Hill, it strains my ability to believe that all these games are taking place in the same small resort community. Trust me on this. New players won’t recognize the original map, and old-school fans will appreciate the chance to revisit the old haunts. Set your next game in Old Silent Hill for the entirety of the game (but don’t do a reboot of the first classic game).
While we’re at it, leave something to the imagination. Too many of your most recent iterations have told straight-forward and literal stories that leave no room for interpretation. Half the fun of the first two Silent Hill games was piecing together the story through subtle symbolic clues and ambiguous bits of dialog. Let’s go back to a time when every monster and every location held symbolic meaning that enhanced the story. It’s not enough for the monsters to look scary, they also have to say something about the characters, their darkest secrets and their greatest fears.
Finally, here’s my most controversial bit of advice for you: Shamelessly rip off Heavy Rain. No, please don’t leave, Silent Hill. I’ll explain. Just hear me out.
You’re in a really tough spot when it comes to combat, especially melee encounters. Put too much of an emphasis on polished combat, and your players will feel too powerful and you lose a lot of the fear. But no one in this day and age will accept the rudimentary and clunky combat controls of your first several titles. Some of your most recent offerings have forced players to just run like hell from every monster they encounter, which was sort of thrilling at first but quickly loses its appeal if that’s the only option. It’s really difficult for you to find that sweet spot that allows for compelling melee encounters without relieving the tension of feeling helpless and alone in a city of nightmares.
So go with quicktime melee encounters like the ones in Heavy Rain. You could have intense melee fights that would actually reinforce the sense of desperation and weakness that make Silent Hill games more effective. Remember that scene in Heavy Rain where you’re the hot reporter and those masked guys are invading her apartment in the middle of the night? Now imagine the attackers are Silent Hill monsters. The scene pretty much writes itself. You could implement a similar combat system without changing any of the exploration and puzzle-solving elements that are more important Silent Hill hallmarks.
So I’ve told you want I want from your next game. Here are a couple things you need to stay away from.
Don’t use characters from previous installments. Especially Pyramid Head. Additionally, don’t take any visual cues from the Silent Hill film either. I admit, the visuals from the movie were really high quality, and it’s tempting to lift a couple of its design elements. But you should be setting the tone for the movies, not vice versa. Finally, don’t focus on the Order in the next game. You can reference the cult and offer some glimpses into its inner-workings, but it works much better when it remains a mystery. Too much exposure just bogs down the plot of the game.
So there you go, Silent Hill. I’m really glad you came to me for help. My door will always be open to you. If you can get the help you need – finally get your act together – we might be able to love each other again.
If not, we’ll always have Silent Hill 1-3. We’ll always have our memories.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Fixing Wolverine
Last week, I wrote a piece about Logan’s seemingly contradictory motivations in the Marvel mega-crossover Avengers vs. X-Men. A good portion of the problems I discussed previously stem from Logan’s treatment of Hope in AvX #4, written by Jonathan Hickman.
I should have known to wait until I’d read Wolverine and the X-Men #11, which came out a week later, before writing that post. Jason Aaron, the writer on WatXM and a one-man Wolverine brain trust, used the issue to fill in some of the gaps that weren’t addressed in the main AvX book and offered a pretty revealing glimpse into Wolverine’s thoughts regarding Hope and the Phoenix Force. However, even armed with these new insights into Logan’s motives, I’m still not quite convinced that I buy this characterization.
Basically, there’s one central question at the heart of my concerns with how AvX is treating Logan: If he’s so convinced that the only way to deal with the Phoenix crisis is to kill Hope (as we see in AvX issues 2 and 3), why didn’t he try to take her out while he was alone with her on the airplane in issue #4? WatXM #11 offers some extended scenes between Logan and Hope during that airplane ride in which it’s revealed that Logan does indeed consider attacking Hope, especially when it looks for a moment as if she’s losing control of her Phoenix powers. But, in the end, Logan blinks. He can’t bring himself to kill a child. He’s reached the limit as to how far he’s willing to go – even if the fate of the world hangs in the balance.
On its own terms, it’s a compelling development that likely will create fertile storytelling ground for Logan’s inevitable confrontation with Kade Kilgore and cast new light on Fantomex’s actions in the first arc of Uncanny X-Force. But, while I appreciate Aaron’s attempt to square Logan’s actions with his stated motivations, it still feels too much like papering over weak characterization in AvX. Perhaps if we’d seen some sign that Logan was this conflicted in the pages of the main crossover, I could accept this. But Logan never seems to question his own plan for an instant anywhere else but in this one issue of WatXM. Which is too bad because I think this is a pretty strong direction to take Wolverine.
Adding another layer of interest to this situation, Jonathan Hickman, the guy who wrote the problematic AvX #4 issue, seems oblivious to Logan’s conflicted conscience in an interview on Comicbookresources.com. Here’s the question CBR asked Mr. Hickman, followed by his response:
CBR Question: Here it's revealed that Wolverine contacted the Avengers to help him deal with Hope. Last issue Logan had a knock down drag out fight with Captain America over how best to handle her, so why is he siding with the Avengers here? Has Logan changed his mind? Does he no longer believe that the best way to stop the Phoenix is to kill Hope?
Hickman: I don't think he's changed his mind at all. Even though Cap feels Wolverine is uncontrollable, Wolverine is still certainly on the Avengers side in all of this. So as soon as this thing looked like it could turn into a containment scenario or a situation where it could be handled off planet he started biding his time to find out what was going to happen and he let the Avengers know. I think it would be wrong to assume that Wolverine is no longer willing or able to do what he needs to do. I know it is.
This leads me to think either Logan will indeed try to kill whomever the Phoenix bonds with in a future issue of AvX (which would require yet another change of heart for the character) or Hickman was oblivious to what Aaron was planning in WatXM. If the latter scenario is true, I think this is another example of how dangerous these crossovers can be when they’re written by committee. Would we be having these consistency problems if AvX had been the product of one writer?
Obviously, no one can know with certainty the answer to that question. I just hope someone among Marvel’s stable of “architects” makes sense of Wolverine’s character when all the dust settles.
I should have known to wait until I’d read Wolverine and the X-Men #11, which came out a week later, before writing that post. Jason Aaron, the writer on WatXM and a one-man Wolverine brain trust, used the issue to fill in some of the gaps that weren’t addressed in the main AvX book and offered a pretty revealing glimpse into Wolverine’s thoughts regarding Hope and the Phoenix Force. However, even armed with these new insights into Logan’s motives, I’m still not quite convinced that I buy this characterization.
Basically, there’s one central question at the heart of my concerns with how AvX is treating Logan: If he’s so convinced that the only way to deal with the Phoenix crisis is to kill Hope (as we see in AvX issues 2 and 3), why didn’t he try to take her out while he was alone with her on the airplane in issue #4? WatXM #11 offers some extended scenes between Logan and Hope during that airplane ride in which it’s revealed that Logan does indeed consider attacking Hope, especially when it looks for a moment as if she’s losing control of her Phoenix powers. But, in the end, Logan blinks. He can’t bring himself to kill a child. He’s reached the limit as to how far he’s willing to go – even if the fate of the world hangs in the balance.
On its own terms, it’s a compelling development that likely will create fertile storytelling ground for Logan’s inevitable confrontation with Kade Kilgore and cast new light on Fantomex’s actions in the first arc of Uncanny X-Force. But, while I appreciate Aaron’s attempt to square Logan’s actions with his stated motivations, it still feels too much like papering over weak characterization in AvX. Perhaps if we’d seen some sign that Logan was this conflicted in the pages of the main crossover, I could accept this. But Logan never seems to question his own plan for an instant anywhere else but in this one issue of WatXM. Which is too bad because I think this is a pretty strong direction to take Wolverine.
Adding another layer of interest to this situation, Jonathan Hickman, the guy who wrote the problematic AvX #4 issue, seems oblivious to Logan’s conflicted conscience in an interview on Comicbookresources.com. Here’s the question CBR asked Mr. Hickman, followed by his response:
CBR Question: Here it's revealed that Wolverine contacted the Avengers to help him deal with Hope. Last issue Logan had a knock down drag out fight with Captain America over how best to handle her, so why is he siding with the Avengers here? Has Logan changed his mind? Does he no longer believe that the best way to stop the Phoenix is to kill Hope?
Hickman: I don't think he's changed his mind at all. Even though Cap feels Wolverine is uncontrollable, Wolverine is still certainly on the Avengers side in all of this. So as soon as this thing looked like it could turn into a containment scenario or a situation where it could be handled off planet he started biding his time to find out what was going to happen and he let the Avengers know. I think it would be wrong to assume that Wolverine is no longer willing or able to do what he needs to do. I know it is.
This leads me to think either Logan will indeed try to kill whomever the Phoenix bonds with in a future issue of AvX (which would require yet another change of heart for the character) or Hickman was oblivious to what Aaron was planning in WatXM. If the latter scenario is true, I think this is another example of how dangerous these crossovers can be when they’re written by committee. Would we be having these consistency problems if AvX had been the product of one writer?
Obviously, no one can know with certainty the answer to that question. I just hope someone among Marvel’s stable of “architects” makes sense of Wolverine’s character when all the dust settles.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Encounters With an Old Friend
The whole premise of this blog is to detail my abject refusal to abandon my various geeky obsessions despite having to split my time between a full-time job and a family. These grown-up commitments have slashed the amount of bandwidth (and money) I can devote to comics and games, but I’m working hard to find new ways to pursue my favorite hobbies without shortchanging all that other important stuff.
Enter Dungeons and Dragons Encounters.
The last two Wednesdays, I’ve been able to get my d20 on in short, controlled 2-hour increments at my local hobby gaming store through an organized play program called Dungeons & Dragons Encounters. I’m not sure who at Wizards of the Coast came up with the concept for Encounters, but that person deserves a raise. It’s tailor-made for guys like me who love table-top gaming but don’t have the time to put together an ongoing campaign.
Each session lasts about an hour or two as PCs take on a standardized adventure module that features one combat encounter and some light role playing. The program utilizes D&D’s 4th Edition rules, which I hadn’t played before but picked up in a hurry. The sessions are structured to accommodate characters dropping in and out, so if you can’t make it every week, no big deal. However, the renown, xp and specialized power cards you earn at each session are carried over from week to week, so it rewards good attendance.
At my LCS, the DM helped us use an online character-design app (no more rolling for stats!), printed out all our character sheets and ability cards, provided the maps and miniatures and just generally did a great job of facilitating an enjoyable experience.
Taking into account my unfamiliarity with 4E, I created an elven 2-blade ranger that I figured would be a simple point-and-click badass. He can deal some serious damage with an axe in each hand or with his longbow, and he’s mobile enough to target enemies all over the battlefield without giving them much of a chance to strike back, which is key since his HP is pretty low. In the first session, I rolled a high initiative and wound up leading the charge, my whirling axes raining down destruction against a swarm of Drow who were attempting a late-night raid on the inn at which my party was staying. Last night, I botched my initiative roll and ended up spending a good chunk of the fight behind the main skirmish line, nocking arrows and letting them fly against shape-shifting hostiles as we searched for a magical amulet in an ancient tower.
Our party changes a little every session as some players from the first week were absent and some new folks showed up, but that created a welcoming atmosphere for everyone. The experience level varied pretty broadly among our group, which is another feature I really like about Encounters. I cut my teeth on 3E and 3.5, but I’d never played 4th Edition. Last night, I sat across from a middle school-aged girl and a guy about my age who had never played D&D before in any capacity. Sitting next to me was a 30-something dude who could quote the rules from the 4th Edition Player’s Handbook with impressive accuracy. And as I said before, the DM did a masterful job of keeping the fight lively while making sure everyone got out of there before two hours had elapsed.
As you can probably discern from my description, Encounters is pretty standard fare for D&D, but that’s exactly the sort of thing I’ve been jonesing for since the real world forced me to cut back on gaming. It’s fast-paced and combat-centric and requires minimal commitment. Just show up when your schedule allows and wade into the bloody mayhem. For any other aging nerds out there who regret that they no longer have time for table-top role playing, Dungeons & Dragons Encounters might be just the thing to drag you back into the Underdark.
To the organized play gurus at Wizards of the Coast, I swear my undying allegiance to thee.
Enter Dungeons and Dragons Encounters.
The last two Wednesdays, I’ve been able to get my d20 on in short, controlled 2-hour increments at my local hobby gaming store through an organized play program called Dungeons & Dragons Encounters. I’m not sure who at Wizards of the Coast came up with the concept for Encounters, but that person deserves a raise. It’s tailor-made for guys like me who love table-top gaming but don’t have the time to put together an ongoing campaign.
Each session lasts about an hour or two as PCs take on a standardized adventure module that features one combat encounter and some light role playing. The program utilizes D&D’s 4th Edition rules, which I hadn’t played before but picked up in a hurry. The sessions are structured to accommodate characters dropping in and out, so if you can’t make it every week, no big deal. However, the renown, xp and specialized power cards you earn at each session are carried over from week to week, so it rewards good attendance.
At my LCS, the DM helped us use an online character-design app (no more rolling for stats!), printed out all our character sheets and ability cards, provided the maps and miniatures and just generally did a great job of facilitating an enjoyable experience.
Taking into account my unfamiliarity with 4E, I created an elven 2-blade ranger that I figured would be a simple point-and-click badass. He can deal some serious damage with an axe in each hand or with his longbow, and he’s mobile enough to target enemies all over the battlefield without giving them much of a chance to strike back, which is key since his HP is pretty low. In the first session, I rolled a high initiative and wound up leading the charge, my whirling axes raining down destruction against a swarm of Drow who were attempting a late-night raid on the inn at which my party was staying. Last night, I botched my initiative roll and ended up spending a good chunk of the fight behind the main skirmish line, nocking arrows and letting them fly against shape-shifting hostiles as we searched for a magical amulet in an ancient tower.
Our party changes a little every session as some players from the first week were absent and some new folks showed up, but that created a welcoming atmosphere for everyone. The experience level varied pretty broadly among our group, which is another feature I really like about Encounters. I cut my teeth on 3E and 3.5, but I’d never played 4th Edition. Last night, I sat across from a middle school-aged girl and a guy about my age who had never played D&D before in any capacity. Sitting next to me was a 30-something dude who could quote the rules from the 4th Edition Player’s Handbook with impressive accuracy. And as I said before, the DM did a masterful job of keeping the fight lively while making sure everyone got out of there before two hours had elapsed.
As you can probably discern from my description, Encounters is pretty standard fare for D&D, but that’s exactly the sort of thing I’ve been jonesing for since the real world forced me to cut back on gaming. It’s fast-paced and combat-centric and requires minimal commitment. Just show up when your schedule allows and wade into the bloody mayhem. For any other aging nerds out there who regret that they no longer have time for table-top role playing, Dungeons & Dragons Encounters might be just the thing to drag you back into the Underdark.
To the organized play gurus at Wizards of the Coast, I swear my undying allegiance to thee.
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