Results tagged “choice” from Softcore Gamer

This post started out as a review of The Baron and I had enormous difficulty writing it, for two reasons. First, because The Baron is a deeply complex game with many interesting features and powerful thematic elements that I did not want to spoil. And second, because reviewing games is not really what I'm interested in doing here. So instead of reviewing The Baron I will simply say, "The Baron is a deeply complex game with many interesting features and powerful thematic elements; you should play it," and then address a couple interesting points about interactive fiction.

I am not an expert on interactive fiction. Honestly, although I'm a fan, I have pretty limited experience. I only played a few pieces of IF last year, and of those the only one that provoked the same sort of contemplation as The Baron is Floatpoint. In these two pieces, however, I'm impressed at how well an in medias res approach to storytelling works. In each piece, the player is dropped unceremoniously into a complex and unfamiliar situation. In each, the first order of business is an exploration of the narrative space to answer some fundamental questions: Who am I? Where am I? What is my relationship to this place and to these people? What is my role in the world, and what is my goal? These elements of the story are authored, not left up to the player, but they have to be discovered or inferred by investigation of the game world. Certainly, this is not an approach common to all IF games; nor is it something that is likely to appeal to all players, although I love it when it is done as well as it is in these games. It seems a technique that is much less common in mainstream games, however, and although that may have something to do with the fact that IF is already a niche genre and therefore attracts more niche styles-of-play, I think that text-based games lend themselves more to this sort of technique.

Graphical systems, by their nature, are capable of conveying much more information at a glance than text-based systems. In games, this functionality is largely devoted to representation of space. In the typical 2D or 3D game, at any given time the majority of the player's screen will be filled with some sort of view of the world. Because of the visual nature of this representation, almost all information about the player character's environment is conveyed implicitly. In a 3D game, the player may have to swing the camera around to see things from a different angle, but he or she doesn't have to make an express effort to get an understanding (at least, a basic or superficial understanding) of the composition of the space surrounding the character. In contrast, the explicit exploration of space is one of the common processes by which a player interacts with a text-based system. In order to come to an understanding of environment, the player does have to make this sort of express effort to investigate elements of the scene. At the beginning of The Baron, for example, a basic look command will inform the player that the room contains a table. It's necessary to examine the table to discover that a framed photograph rests on it; it's further necessary to examine the photograph to find out what it depicts. This sort of interaction is not at all unreasonable in a text-based system, but no analogue occurs in a graphical system where the table and photograph are apparent in a cursory inspection.

It seems to me that this sort of spacial exploration runs nicely parallel to the narrative exploration that in medias res storytelling demands. In fact, in many cases the character and general backstory can be folded into the description of space and significant objects (including non-player characters) in the environment. In the case of the photograph on the table, examining the picture could trigger a memory or some other description that relates the character to the world. (This technique is used in The Baron, although not at this particular moment; I believe this sort of "folded-in" discovery is also employed in Floatpoint, along with more explicit exposition.) This makes the process of narrative exploration much more natural - or, at least, piggy-backs it onto a more natural process - to mitigate player confusion and frustration. In our graphical analogue, the player has no reason to explicitly examine the picture, since it is already visible, and therefore there is no place for secondary information to be accessed intuitively.

This idea of exploration is particularly interesting in The Baron because of the cyclical nature of the game. On the first pass, the player is exploring the physical space and the narrative space, trying to come to an understanding of the environment and the character. Subsequent passes are devoted to exploring the possibility space of user interaction, trying different actions and seeing what the consequences are; because of the cyclical set-up and the thematic focus on motivated action, this sort of exploration of possible actions becomes a central game mechanic over the course of multiple plays-through of the game. Using the process of choosing an action as a game mechanic in this way is another area where I believe the text-based interaction of IF has an advantage over graphical games.

The set of valid options may be just as limited as with a graphical interface, but the set of potentially valid options is larger. Usually, in a graphical interface, there will be a limited number of points of interaction (places to click, for example) and a limited number of types of interaction (items to use, for example). The set of potentially valid options is a combination of interaction types and points. This set may be very large, which could make finding a valid option non-trivial, but it is clearly finite and, moreover, can be easily enumerated. The set of potentially valid options in a text-input interface includes any imperative phrase the player can think of. Even if, depending on the sophistication of the game's text-processing system, this set is severely restricted by practical considerations, it is still usually much harder to enumerate than its graphical counterpart. (Technically, it is just as enumerable, but for the player - who usually doesn't know the extent of the set of valid commands - it is harder to process.) This can makes the player feel like he or she has unlimited options - at least until it becomes apparent the fact that a subset of the potentially valid options will not be understood by the system. This, unfortunately, is another inherent quality of text-based interaction, and I would say it is the major drawback and the reason that text-based games has fallen so far out of favor. And perhaps minimizing that particular player frustration is a reason to avoid text as an interface mechanism, but games like The Baron both prove that great experiences can come out of a text interface and remind us of some of the things we sacrifice when we make graphical games.

Happy new year, everyone! I've been on vacation for the past couple weeks, but now I'm back in L.A., trying to overcome this holiday inertia. And you know what that means: obligatory end-of-the-year post! Er, admittedly, a couple weeks late. Nonetheless! With a little prompting from Ethan Kennerly, I'm going to run down the list of favorite moments from gaming in 2007.

10. Super Mario Galaxy - I lent my Wii to a friend for the end of the year, so the only Mario Galaxy I got to play was an extended romp following Thanksgiving dinner at Jamie's. I'm not sure that I'm ready to accept the proposition that it's as much fun as Mario 64 was, but it is fun. Long-jumping off of a platform and into orbit around it is one of the more satisfying things I've ever done in a game. But that isn't why Mario Galaxy gets a favorite-moment mention. I love collective play - when many people connect with each other over the shared experience of a game as it's being played - but I don't get nearly enough opportunities to play games in the environment you need to achieve it. The night I played Mario Galaxy, however, I was playing with a room full of happy, friendly, and turkey-stuffed people sharing the experience. A collective intake of breath accompanied every near-suicide as I attempted to navigate the Sweet Sweet Galaxy, and only by our collective force of will, and Jamie's cat-like reflexes as my P2, did Mario clear that last platform to safety. I think it was one of the few times this year that I got to feel the sublime sensation of shared play; certainly it was one of the most fun.

9. Bioshock - I still haven't played enough of Bioshock to give it a proper review, but I've played more of it than I had when I reviewed it the first time. And I have to admit, there's a lot to like about this game. It deserves a spot on this list just for the absolutely stellar atmosphere and environmental design. As for a favorite moment, well, on several occasions through the game I've experienced a quiet awe as, after clearing an area of zombie-like Splicers, I had a chance to walk around and take it all in. Perhaps my favorite such instance occurs before Splicers even enter the picture when, upon entering the lighthouse at the start of the game, I found a space somehow cavernous and claustrophobic, beautifully and lovingly and richly decorated, yet disquietingly empty. The air was filled by that haunting music, and I felt like I was looking in on something that had once been grand, and was forsaken.

8. Trauma Center: Second Opinion - I don't know why I love Trauma Center the way I do - it's much too hard for me, and that usually turns me off right out of the gate. But there's something entrancing about it, especially at the early levels, when I know that I can succeed as long as I don't screw up, and that knowledge makes me work furiously to finish before the patient flatlines. My favorite moment comes when Derek shouts, in one of the only bits of voice acting in the whole game, "I will save this patient!" It's cheesy, maybe, but the character's frank determination is infectious. And it's refreshing to play a game where success involves saving lives, rather than taking them.

7. Sam & Max: Season One - I was vaguely aware of Sam & Max, as a franchise and as a modern episodic game, before I picked up Season One this summer. I didn't realize that I would get quite such a kick out of it. After too long, this was my return to adventure gaming, and it was easy to remember why I loved the genre. The games are witty and clever but simple; the lack of complex or abstract puzzles puts the focus squarely on the story, which is fun and funny and nicely compact. Playing six 2 to 3 hour games made me realize that, while marathon games like Oblivion have their place, short games can be an incredible joy. My favorite moment was getting thrown into an old-school text adventure in the episode Reality 2.0. I'm just that much of a geek.

6. The Legend of Zelda: Phantom Hourglass - You may remember that I was a little skeptical about Phantom Hourglass in the days leading up to its release. Drawing a path for your boomerang would be cool, no questions asked, but the whole concept of drawing on your map seemed a little gimmicky to me, and I was afraid it would bring down the whole game. Boy, was I mistaken. Phantom Hourglass is fun, although due to the onslaught of games this holiday season I haven't gotten to play as much as I'd have liked, but my favorite part by far was the dawning realization that I had seriously underestimated how developers could use that little gimmick to add innovation and depth to the play mechanics. For as many times as I've talked about data as content and information as currency, I had to play the game to understand how well treating information as a prize could work.

5. Once Upon a Time - I played Once Upon a Time for the first time during the week after Christmas, with my sister, while we were snowed in up in the mountains. I was extremely pleased to see how simple the game is, and how much fun it was to play. It falls into an odd and delightful cooperative-competitive category, where each player is ostensibly trying to win in a zero-sum fashion, but really everybody's goal is just to keep the story going. My favorite moment was when Captain Bart, the king-cum-pirate, instructed his lover to poison the kindly old woman who had cooked them nothing but potatoes every day. That's the kind of plot twist you just don't see in many of your commercial games.

4. Elite Beat Agents - Rhythm games have always held a strange appeal to me. I'm terrible at them, which is what makes it so strange. Also, I tend to get bored relatively quickly. I have a Dance Dance Revolution: Mario Mix mat gathering dust from the brief period when I was bursting with excitement about that game. Ditto the bongos from Donkey Kong Jungle Beat. In fact, the only rhythm game that has stayed consistently fun since the time I got it is Guitar Hero II, which I guess is what I love so much about Guitar Hero. I got tired of Elite Beat Agents pretty quickly, too, but damn was that game fantastic while I was playing it. I absolutely love the idea of people being able to overcome any problem with a little luck, perseverance, and the support of a team of snazzy male cheerleaders dancing to pop hits. The wonderful, cheery absurdity of the story was like, well, music to me. Favorite moment: Cheering on a parrot in a scuba helmet to the tune of Y.M.C.A. Also, the phrase "Agents are GO!"

3. Mass Effect - Mass Effect was, by far, my most anticipated game of the year. And it lived up to it's promise as a worthy successor to Knights of the Old Republic, which is one of my favorite games of all time. Certainly, the game isn't perfect, but most of its problems boil down to the fact that some of the secondary systems aren't as well designed or polished as the rest of the game. In other words, it's important to continually stress how not-perfect the game is because it's really so damn good. As with KOTOR before it, I'm partial to the romantic subplot in Mass Effect. I guess that my favorite moment of the game was when I ultimately turned down Kaiden's advances in favor of pursuing Liara. I'm used to any romance in a game like this being linear, if optional. Having to make a choice, and follow through with it by explicitly rejecting a character that I had rather gotten to like over the course of the game, was emotionally potent, especially because the characters and situations were so well presented.

2. The Baron - The Baron deserves a proper review, and I'm still planning to give it one eventually. For anyone who isn't familiar with it, this is a work of interactive fiction that I found through the Play This Thing! blog last summer. It's a cyclical game, meant to be played more than once, and on the first play-through it's a good example of what the form brings to the table. The game is structured as a short series of encounters, where the overall organization is almost entirely linear, but there are many ways to navigate each individual encounter. The text interface makes me feel more of a sense of freedom in my interaction with the world, and it's worth playing the game just to remember what we lose by using graphical interface systems. There's a moment of realization at the end of the game, however, that imbues the whole experience with an additional layer of meaning. Maybe because I didn't really see it coming, or maybe because of the subject matter of the game, this was one of the most powerful moments I've ever experienced in gaming.

1. Portal - Come on, what's not to love about Portal? I can't even count all the favorite moments that came out of this game: perfecting the double-fling, discovering the graffito-ridden back rooms, Jonathan Coulton's song, reading the history of Aperture Science on aperturescience.com, the cake... Clearly I'm obsessed, but Portal is in many ways a masterpiece of a game. If I have to pick just one favorite moment, though, it's the line, "There was even going to be a party for you. A big party that all your friends were invited to. I invited your best friend the companion cube. Of course, he couldn't come because you murdered him."

I don't know exactly why I'm so excited about the launch of Valve's Orange Box today, since I have no personal investment in the Half Life series and I won't even get to play the thing until later this month, when I trade the PS2 I've been using back for my 360. But I've been looking forward to Portal since, well, since the first time I heard about it. Which is a little ridiculous because, as much as I love to have a game take advantage of the ethereal nature of virtual worlds to screw with the laws of physics, there's good chance I'm not going to love the game itself. I'm trying to steel myself for a hardcore approach to spacial puzzles (read: platformer) with a killer difficulty curve. Even so, I can't help get excited about it.

But the point is, I've started to get excited about the other games included in this package. I'll finally get my chance to play Half Life 2, for one thing, which is supposed to have been the "Thinking Man's FPS" before Bioshock stole the title away. Episodes One and Two represent a step forward for episodic gaming, a cause to which I have been whole-heartedly converted. I love the style and aesthetic of Team Fortress 2, and by all accounts it's well balanced and a great deal of fun. And, quite frankly, whatever you think of these individual games, you have to admire the whole shebang. The contents display enough variety to appeal to a pretty decent range of tastes, and give everyone a chance to explore something they might not otherwise try.

Maybe more than anything else, this spoiler-free review of Episode Two by John Walker over at Rock, Paper, Shotgun has got me itching to find out what I've been missing all these years. Whether or not you're a Half-Life fan, I'd recommend you check out the article, which heaps all sorts of eloquent praise on the game. John was impressed by its style and polish, among other things. "Better than any FPS before, Episode Two disguises its linearity not by presenting you with false choices, but by making the only path on offer the only path you’d ever want to take. Go back and you’ll realise there is only ever one route. But you still picked it." I'm always impressed by this sort of attention to level design, which is perhaps the keystone to creating an effective narrative experience in a linear game. By definition, linearity limits a player's ability to make choices, which can severely decrease the player's sense of agency. Designing a linear game that doesn't feel linear is an impressive feat, and it allows the game effective use of the entire range of agency-based emotions, from pride to helplessness to regret.

By any measure, it seems the Orange Box is scoring high marks. To make your Orange Day celebrations complete, I'd also like to point out the first Team Fortress 2 machinima that hit yesterday, also brought to you by Rock, Paper, Shotgun. General agreement seems to be that it runs long, but it's elegant and touching and occasionally pretty funny. I have a soft spot in my heart for machinima, probably because I desperately want it to be possible to put together a great film without a huge art budget, and possibly because I love to see what creative people can do with constraints. (My abiding affection for the Red vs. Blue series probably falls in there somewhere, too.) Certainly, TF2 seemed to treat this film well. I haven't played the game, so I don't know how the camera works, but I was personally pretty impressed by some of the cinematography that they pulled off.

Some might take issue with a review of a game written by someone who hasn't played it. Especially when the game is as monumental as Bioshock. But if all bloggers restrained themselves from offering opinion simply because they didn't know what they were talking about, well, it would be a much smaller blogosphere. And I suppose I'm no different from the rest of them.

Although I've had some things to say about the game for some time, I'm particularly inspired to write this now in response to Jamie Antonisse's spoiler-free Bioshock review written earlier this week. All I've played of the game is the demo, but based on that experience, reading a range of posts and articles on the subject, and my conversations with other gamers (including Jamie) working their way through it, I feel like I've gotten a fair sense of the story and gameplay. Without the benefit of actually playing the thing, I may fall on the crutch of revealing the twists and turns of the plot. Readers beware, here may be spoilers.

I shared Jamie's initial disappointment with the linearly militaristic structure of the game. Bioshock seems to follow a traditional given-path philosophy of level design, where the player is presented with a bounded path through space that must be followed to the end. Along the way, the player encounters obstacles that block progress along the path, which must be overcome in order to continue. Typically, and in Bioshock it seems almost exclusively, these obstacles are enemies that have to be destroyed. What Bioshock does well is allow the player a lot of choice with respect to how those enemies are destroyed. What it fails to do is give the player significant alternatives to killing the enemies that bar the path, or deviate from the path.

Not that this is a bad thing; precisely this sort of given-path level design is historically and currently the industry standard for making games. But the context surrounding this particular game led me to expect more, particularly in the areas of player choice and narrative, where it received particular praise. And by making this sort of structural choice, the game necessarily limits player choice to specific domains: weapons systems and combat tactics. Don't get me wrong, it may handle player choice within these specific domains extremely well. I just can't help feeling confined by the small bounded space in which I can act freely.

I'm omitting a major game element here, and it's the one that gets the most press: the Little Sisters. Little Sisters pose a different sort of obstacle to the player, and offer the the opportunity to make a moral choice rather than a tactical one. Narratively speaking, this is much more interesting, especially if the player is aware of the all-or-nothing nature of the choice. The internal, emotional process of making a decision, above and beyond coming up with a solution to a short-term problem, is at the heart of what interactive media can offer the art of storytelling. Bioshock certainly captures this, and does it in a way that beautifully echoes the overarching objectivist themes. But again, the game's use of this choice mechanic is quite limited: disparate instances in which the player is asked to make essentially the same decision. And the consequences of this decision on the plot are disappointingly shallow, only seriously impacting the ending cinematic.

I will speak primarily about the plot and ignore some other aspects of the storytelling, since plot is an integral part of the narrative and also the most accessible to me without having played the game through. The plot is certainly rich and compelling, but not what I expected from a game that was marked as a milestone for story in games. It's chock full of twists and revelations, but these are of the same class of story elements that games have been drawing from for years. My personal love of overwrought science-fiction aside, I think it's telling how little of this sort of thing is found in the great works of other media.

So my fundamental question is, why has Bioshock been singled out to receive these accolades? Not that it isn't deserving of honors, but is it more deserving than other games? To what extent does it truly break new ground? It seems to me that other games have done more to push the envelope in areas such as designing game mechanics around player choice, incorporating agency and morality, painting a rich backdrop, and telling a compelling story. One thing that Bioshock does remarkably well is atmosphere; perhaps that's the key. The art direction for this game is awe inspiring, and certainly contributes to the way the story is told. This is a point on which Bioshock excels, and if that is the source of all its praise, then it's well deserved.

Still, I for one can't help but be a little disappointed by this modern masterwork of interactive media. It's hardly the revolution of emotion and story in games that was promised. So many of the key elements - a city full of crazed, violent survivors; an amnesic protagonist unwittingly fulfilling his destiny; the mentor's betrayal; epic battles against armor-plated behemoths; mind control - seem to be archetypes plucked from stories and genres that employ them specifically to fill out an otherwise ridiculously thin plot. I've been waiting for the advent of the character-driven drama in games, for story based around the interpersonal conflicts arising from the individual and sympathetic fears, desires, anxieties, and compulsions of the characters. Bioshock, for all that it does well, does not deliver that.