A change in schedule and blogspot being down for a bit will make this a shorter entry than usual. Sorry about that, my nonexistent readers! On the plus side, since last we talked I found a roommate, so I have one less thing to panic about. Woohoo!
So to make this a shorter entry, I'll focus on a single periodic event of my childhood. Camping! Specifically, I refer to the at least one a year camping trips I took with my father, a series of adventures that can best be described in one way: It rained a lot.
When we were kids, instead of the usual Boy Scouts, we went with the Indian Guides. These days, they renamed themselves the YMCA guides to avoid uncomfortable connotations of the last name, which is hilarious when you think about it. Either way, it didn't matter, because after a few years, we graduated to Trailblazers, the version for junior high or older kids. In general, we were not the most intense members of the organization. We did the camp outs and some of the events, but by and largely we ignored the administrative levels. Not that my dad didn't try. He even went to great lengths at times, like when we had to whittle/carve a block of wood for racing and artistic purposes. Ours always sucked for speed reasons, but creatively they were very impressive, and looking back I have to really respect my dad for the effort.
The camp-outs, though, were often minor disasters, not that it was often his fault. The winter ones were often set up at outrageous cold weekends, meaning we spent much of the time shivering in barely insulated cabins. The summer ones fared slightly better, even though we relied on tents and not the RVs some members did, and I was pretty picky about breakfast food. His attempts to make scrambled eggs always were a bit too burned for my liking, for example. The best ones, at least in terms of activities, were the Indiana Beach trips. We still used the tents, but we then had both an arcade and an amusement park to kill the rest of the time. Or at least we would if the weather ever liked us. Day 1 was usually fine. Day 2 was usually okay, which was good, as that was usually the day we visited the park. But we returned to the tents as it got dark, and then the rained started. Every. Single. TIME!
It didn't just rain, oh no. It poured constantly until we huddled under tarps to avoid being drenched. There were times we abandoned the tend and slept in the minivan. There was even the time I collapsed from exhaustion well before it was time for that, which honestly was a blessing if it meant you were going to sleep in a minivan anyway.
But like many of the things in my childhood, I didn't realize how much work went into it or appreciate it until it was much later. My dad, to put it mildly, did not have a happy childhood, and this was one of the many ways he tried to do better than he had it, to succeed as a parent. I wanted to say that, knowing what I do now, it was a good idea, and however much I whined, it was fun. I enjoyed the canoeing, even with the times the river was so shallow that we got stuck and the frequent capsizing. I enjoyed the camping experience, even if a lot of the other kids were jerks or creepy. I even enjoyed some of the food.
I didn't enjoy the rain, though. Oh, and sorry my friend discolored much of the tent with food coloring.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Reviews: My Junior High Fantasy Complete
Well, at the very least it's the fantasy I'm willing to talk about here.
I refer to Smash Brothers Brawl, the third in the increasingly popular fighting game series by Nintendo. The fantasy refers to their change of policy; unlike earlier games in the series, this one allows for some third party characters to join the fight. One of them was Sonic, the Sega mascot and a long-running rival to Nintendo's rival Sonic. This addition was one of many new features that made this game more exciting than previous installments; fantasy battles imagined for well over a decade can finally be realized!
Yes, this is indeed an incredible game. It got nearly perfect reviews by critics, putting near the most popular games every made, and sold millions in the very first weeks. And yet...
One particularly famous critic, Yahtzee of Zero Punctuation, said that he hated the game. There's nothing wrong with that specifically; anyone can have their own opinion. But while some of it was purely subjective (he just didn't find the game's often chaotic gameplay fun, so it goes,) he also raised some objective points that deserved attention.
I'll start by explaining the series for those unfamiliar with it. Smash Brothers is a game about Nintendo's mascot characters, but not about any series specifically. Instead, it's a fighting game where all their major characters fight with each other. So Mario goes against Link, who is also fighting Metroid's Samus and Pikachu. Despite debuting on the 3D heavy Nintendo 64, the series is primarily a two dimensional game. Instead of the usual flat battlefield of a fighting game, each level is a series of platforms hovering over a bottomless pit or surrounded by barriers that can't be passed without suffering a loss. Instead of health, every character has an increasing damage percentage, and the distance an attack knocks you back is based on how high this percentage is at. When around 100% or so, many attacks are lethal, either knocking enemies past the barriers or so far away from the platforms that the victims can't return, despite all characters having the ability to double jump and a special move that includes enough mobility to count as at least a third jump.
In addition, the game shakes things up by allowing four players to fight at once, creating team matches or free for all matches where allegiances shift instantly based on who happens to be winning. Randomly dropped items are also added, from new weapons to deadly explosives and healing items. And most stages have further hazards as well, creating yet another thing that has to be avoided. The result is a frequently high-speed and intense melee, but despite the chaos and simple controls there is a deep fighting experience, with advanced players relying on high-speed evasions, shield and rolls, dodging, and attack priorities.
The frantic gameplay, innovative fighting system, and sheer nostalgia of the characters, settings, items, and music are enough to make every game in this series very impressive. And Brawl improved upon the series in many ways. The simple single-player quest, used mostly to earn hidden things like characters and trophies, the game's collectible trinkets, was refined to include an entire ten-hour side-scrolling adventure, with a plot tying the game's characters together and a new enemy for all of the thirty+ characters to unite and fight. The graphics have improved, but the music really stands out, with dozens of the best composers in the video game united to provide their interpretations of the industry's most memorable music.
But one problem that Yahtzee noted persists, and it may very well be a matter of philosophy more than anything. Like every game in the series, much of the content starts out hidden. In the very first game, 4 of the 12 characters were hidden, along with one of the stages. At this point, of the 35 characters, something like 15 were hidden, as were a dozen or so of the total stages. This list of hidden characters include Snake and Sonic, which was odd, as one of the selling points of the game were these hidden third party characters. And to unlock them in the easiest possible way, you have to defeat somewhere between 2/3 and the entirety of the adventure mode. On some ways, this method is much easier. In Melee, getting some of the characters involved hours of guesswork. In Brawl, all the secrets are conveniently listed on a single screen, and all the characters can be found just by defeating or carefully exploring the levels of adventure mode. So while I can understand why a neophyte of the series is annoyed by this, as an experienced player, I find the same system an improvement.
This sort of thing reveals a conflict we're seeing more often in games. It's not even the now traditional narrative versus open world or single versus multi player default; it's a matter of how much we own the very games we buy. In other words, should we, the purchaser of the game, decide how it gets played? After all, if we buy a DVD, we expect to pop it in and, should we want, fast-forward or scene skip to the last five minutes. But in video games, not only are there hidden objects and rewards, but the game makes playing it in its entirety obligatory. What if someone wants to get, say, Grand Theft Auto 4, turn on invincibility from the start (and legitimately, not by having to search the Internet for cheat codes,) level select to the final battle, and watch the closing credits before the plastic wrapping is even off of the box completely? If that's too extreme, there are other points of debate like skippable/pausible cut scenes and the ability to save and load everywhere. For the record, I'm fully in favor of the former, but reluctantly supportive of the latter. Saving everywhere is crucial, but loading everywhere leads to obsessive gaming of the sort that encourages reloads if you lose more than 2% of your health in every room, and increasingly lethal game design to make up for it.
Anyway, I will argue that Brawl overused the hidden aspect in this game. It was less of a problem in earlier games, as the hidden characters were more obscure ones or clones of more popular characters. If you bought the game so you could play as your favorite Nintendo character, you had that chance right out of the box. However, hiding the third party characters was dirty pool. I also found that they overused the collectible features by making you beat the game on three other modes in addition to the adventure for all 35 characters! That made beating parts of the game feel more like a chore than fun.
The only other complaints are the still unfriendly and unreliable internet system, which seems to be a Nintendo staple, and still too many clone-y characters. Seriously, Gannondorf deserved his own move set this time, and there was no excuse for Fox, Falco, and Wolf from the Star Fox series to all have only slightly divergent moves. Plus, no Megaman! Why introduce third party characters and then only use two of them? I only hope this will be a more thoroughly used feature come the next sequel; heck, make it the game's adventure mode theme, toss in at least a half-dozen more, and treat it like one of those Marvel Versus DC style crossovers.
The final rating is still an A-, despite these flaws. And if it did have Megaman, I probably would've bumped it to an A.
I refer to Smash Brothers Brawl, the third in the increasingly popular fighting game series by Nintendo. The fantasy refers to their change of policy; unlike earlier games in the series, this one allows for some third party characters to join the fight. One of them was Sonic, the Sega mascot and a long-running rival to Nintendo's rival Sonic. This addition was one of many new features that made this game more exciting than previous installments; fantasy battles imagined for well over a decade can finally be realized!
Yes, this is indeed an incredible game. It got nearly perfect reviews by critics, putting near the most popular games every made, and sold millions in the very first weeks. And yet...
One particularly famous critic, Yahtzee of Zero Punctuation, said that he hated the game. There's nothing wrong with that specifically; anyone can have their own opinion. But while some of it was purely subjective (he just didn't find the game's often chaotic gameplay fun, so it goes,) he also raised some objective points that deserved attention.
I'll start by explaining the series for those unfamiliar with it. Smash Brothers is a game about Nintendo's mascot characters, but not about any series specifically. Instead, it's a fighting game where all their major characters fight with each other. So Mario goes against Link, who is also fighting Metroid's Samus and Pikachu. Despite debuting on the 3D heavy Nintendo 64, the series is primarily a two dimensional game. Instead of the usual flat battlefield of a fighting game, each level is a series of platforms hovering over a bottomless pit or surrounded by barriers that can't be passed without suffering a loss. Instead of health, every character has an increasing damage percentage, and the distance an attack knocks you back is based on how high this percentage is at. When around 100% or so, many attacks are lethal, either knocking enemies past the barriers or so far away from the platforms that the victims can't return, despite all characters having the ability to double jump and a special move that includes enough mobility to count as at least a third jump.
In addition, the game shakes things up by allowing four players to fight at once, creating team matches or free for all matches where allegiances shift instantly based on who happens to be winning. Randomly dropped items are also added, from new weapons to deadly explosives and healing items. And most stages have further hazards as well, creating yet another thing that has to be avoided. The result is a frequently high-speed and intense melee, but despite the chaos and simple controls there is a deep fighting experience, with advanced players relying on high-speed evasions, shield and rolls, dodging, and attack priorities.
The frantic gameplay, innovative fighting system, and sheer nostalgia of the characters, settings, items, and music are enough to make every game in this series very impressive. And Brawl improved upon the series in many ways. The simple single-player quest, used mostly to earn hidden things like characters and trophies, the game's collectible trinkets, was refined to include an entire ten-hour side-scrolling adventure, with a plot tying the game's characters together and a new enemy for all of the thirty+ characters to unite and fight. The graphics have improved, but the music really stands out, with dozens of the best composers in the video game united to provide their interpretations of the industry's most memorable music.
But one problem that Yahtzee noted persists, and it may very well be a matter of philosophy more than anything. Like every game in the series, much of the content starts out hidden. In the very first game, 4 of the 12 characters were hidden, along with one of the stages. At this point, of the 35 characters, something like 15 were hidden, as were a dozen or so of the total stages. This list of hidden characters include Snake and Sonic, which was odd, as one of the selling points of the game were these hidden third party characters. And to unlock them in the easiest possible way, you have to defeat somewhere between 2/3 and the entirety of the adventure mode. On some ways, this method is much easier. In Melee, getting some of the characters involved hours of guesswork. In Brawl, all the secrets are conveniently listed on a single screen, and all the characters can be found just by defeating or carefully exploring the levels of adventure mode. So while I can understand why a neophyte of the series is annoyed by this, as an experienced player, I find the same system an improvement.
This sort of thing reveals a conflict we're seeing more often in games. It's not even the now traditional narrative versus open world or single versus multi player default; it's a matter of how much we own the very games we buy. In other words, should we, the purchaser of the game, decide how it gets played? After all, if we buy a DVD, we expect to pop it in and, should we want, fast-forward or scene skip to the last five minutes. But in video games, not only are there hidden objects and rewards, but the game makes playing it in its entirety obligatory. What if someone wants to get, say, Grand Theft Auto 4, turn on invincibility from the start (and legitimately, not by having to search the Internet for cheat codes,) level select to the final battle, and watch the closing credits before the plastic wrapping is even off of the box completely? If that's too extreme, there are other points of debate like skippable/pausible cut scenes and the ability to save and load everywhere. For the record, I'm fully in favor of the former, but reluctantly supportive of the latter. Saving everywhere is crucial, but loading everywhere leads to obsessive gaming of the sort that encourages reloads if you lose more than 2% of your health in every room, and increasingly lethal game design to make up for it.
Anyway, I will argue that Brawl overused the hidden aspect in this game. It was less of a problem in earlier games, as the hidden characters were more obscure ones or clones of more popular characters. If you bought the game so you could play as your favorite Nintendo character, you had that chance right out of the box. However, hiding the third party characters was dirty pool. I also found that they overused the collectible features by making you beat the game on three other modes in addition to the adventure for all 35 characters! That made beating parts of the game feel more like a chore than fun.
The only other complaints are the still unfriendly and unreliable internet system, which seems to be a Nintendo staple, and still too many clone-y characters. Seriously, Gannondorf deserved his own move set this time, and there was no excuse for Fox, Falco, and Wolf from the Star Fox series to all have only slightly divergent moves. Plus, no Megaman! Why introduce third party characters and then only use two of them? I only hope this will be a more thoroughly used feature come the next sequel; heck, make it the game's adventure mode theme, toss in at least a half-dozen more, and treat it like one of those Marvel Versus DC style crossovers.
The final rating is still an A-, despite these flaws. And if it did have Megaman, I probably would've bumped it to an A.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
One Day Delay, Again
The Thursday post will be finished this friday. Sorry, delays from a visit to the car dealership and my continual roomate hunt have come up, but it won't be permanent.
My Inspirations: Where I Prove Myself an Incredible Sap
Today's inspiration is another video game. I know, I know, but if I wasn't so inspired by the industry, I wouldn't want to get into it, now would I? This one may come as a surprise to you. It sure as hell came as a surprise to me.
The year, I believe, was 1999. This was the year of "Summer of Adventure" AKA the year that Squaresoft (well before it was Square Enix) conveniently released a brilliant new game every single month for like five months straight. Some of their most celebrated, famous or infamous, and controversial titles came out in this time frame, from the sequel to Chrono Trigger to yet another Final Fantasy (9 this time.) There were also lesser gems like Threads of Fate and Front Mission 3, but in the middle of it all was a semi-sequel to Secret of Mana, another earlier hit by Squaresoft. The sequel, though, was a much different beast, one that made a lot of people angry and to many signified a spiral of doom for the entire Mana series that continues to this very day. I LOVE this game.
It's difficult to explain why, but I'm doing a blog for a reason, so here it goes. The game starts with the premise that the world got horribly screwed up, so it was more less laid bare, every person or place stripped away so they can be placed down anew, restored. The first thing to be put back is a simple home containing an avatar of the Goddess of Mana, part of the ongoing theme that connects the entire Mana series. You are, of course, that avatar.
As the game progresses, you find other items, each of which physically personify a location on the planet. You place these objects in any order and locations that you see fit, slightly altering their nature and thus the monsters you fight and quests you can earn there. Slowly, the world expands, creating towns, caverns, beaches, dungeons, towers, and usual RPG features. However, because of the game's design, there's no single unifying story arc that drives things. Instead, as inhabited locations become available, major individuals can be encountered, and their introductions start any of the three smaller story arcs available in the game. As you encounter these people in multiple locations and the plots get deeper, the adventures get more complex until you can get access to a "final dungeon" style location, containing a final boss for that arc.
In addition to the three main arcs, there are literally dozens of other quests, from amusing interactions with each city's locals to even smaller mini-arcs involving the fate of minor characters. The entire game eschews any realistic artistic style (not that the original Playstation could get too photorealistic in the first place,) in favor a more stylized, cartoon design with two dimensional graphics.
There are generally two things that Legend of Mana detractors complain about. The graphics are rarely one of them, since the earlier Mana games have a similar cartoon style and the artwork is both aesthetically pleasing, consistent throughout the world, and unique; you can always recognize a game by the Legend of Mana developers. The game play and story were much less successful. Secret of Mana (the first game in the series as far as many Americans were concerned) had an elaborate fighting system using top-down perspectives, chargeable weapons, and most importantly, as many as three players active at once! Conversely, Legend uses a side view with 3D elements but not graphics, letting characters move up and down to reach different levels of the ground but with almost no way of directly interacting above or below you. In other words, it was a traditional beat-em-up game like Final Fight with magic and slightly more options. In addition, while you can have as many as three characters on your team, one was always a computer-controlled golem or monster. The second character can be player controlled, but it was never a permanent part of the party, instead being related to the current story, one of the apprentices the main character gets early on, or the main character from the other player's save file. Either way, it's doubtful the second character will be at the same level of power that the main character is, either unbalancing the entire adventure or becoming useless as a result.
The story loses points, in some eyes, in the lack of focus, the way the individual story arcs could halt for hours while the avatar builds up the lands needed to continue them, and the often bizarre and surreal stories in the first place. Others complained that these arcs have nothing to do with the game's ultimate conclusion. You have to complete at least one of the main three (or possibly two, it's been a while,) to open up the final level, but which one you complete has almost no bearing on the final area or the game's story.
It's that surrealism that appeals to me, however. Say what you want about the stories in Legend of Mana, but they were almost nothing like the stories I had gotten accustomed to after so many RPGs. And the staggered way they were presented helps make the world itself seem more expansive and real. It wasn't just a line of quests, empty of any other point or motivation beyond serving you. Okay, it was, but it disguised this fact much more thoroughly. Combined with the often bittersweet and dark story arcs, a strange thing for such a fancifully styled game, and it makes the world much more real.
But all that still wouldn't be enough were it not for the music, which is flawless. From the exciting action scores to the sorrowful dirges of ruined towns to the epic conclusions of the story arcs, the music constantly captures the tone of the game and accentuates it. Done by Yoko Shimomura, famous for her work with Kingdom Hearts and countless other games, it manages to do something that even now rarely happens to me; it created a video game that made me cry. And it didn't just do it once. No, the ending of one of the three arcs has made me cry every time I beat it. Who knows if it still would today, but I certainly couldn't resist it in those days.
Between the music, the art, the often touching stories, and the sheer expanse of the game, it remains a personal favorite. I didn't even get into the more complex features, from the weapon and armor forging to the garden and even programming the simple AI logic of your pet golems. This game, like Majora's Mask, taught me that if one is to make a story about saving the world, one can't do so without making characters worth saving.
The year, I believe, was 1999. This was the year of "Summer of Adventure" AKA the year that Squaresoft (well before it was Square Enix) conveniently released a brilliant new game every single month for like five months straight. Some of their most celebrated, famous or infamous, and controversial titles came out in this time frame, from the sequel to Chrono Trigger to yet another Final Fantasy (9 this time.) There were also lesser gems like Threads of Fate and Front Mission 3, but in the middle of it all was a semi-sequel to Secret of Mana, another earlier hit by Squaresoft. The sequel, though, was a much different beast, one that made a lot of people angry and to many signified a spiral of doom for the entire Mana series that continues to this very day. I LOVE this game.
It's difficult to explain why, but I'm doing a blog for a reason, so here it goes. The game starts with the premise that the world got horribly screwed up, so it was more less laid bare, every person or place stripped away so they can be placed down anew, restored. The first thing to be put back is a simple home containing an avatar of the Goddess of Mana, part of the ongoing theme that connects the entire Mana series. You are, of course, that avatar.
As the game progresses, you find other items, each of which physically personify a location on the planet. You place these objects in any order and locations that you see fit, slightly altering their nature and thus the monsters you fight and quests you can earn there. Slowly, the world expands, creating towns, caverns, beaches, dungeons, towers, and usual RPG features. However, because of the game's design, there's no single unifying story arc that drives things. Instead, as inhabited locations become available, major individuals can be encountered, and their introductions start any of the three smaller story arcs available in the game. As you encounter these people in multiple locations and the plots get deeper, the adventures get more complex until you can get access to a "final dungeon" style location, containing a final boss for that arc.
In addition to the three main arcs, there are literally dozens of other quests, from amusing interactions with each city's locals to even smaller mini-arcs involving the fate of minor characters. The entire game eschews any realistic artistic style (not that the original Playstation could get too photorealistic in the first place,) in favor a more stylized, cartoon design with two dimensional graphics.
There are generally two things that Legend of Mana detractors complain about. The graphics are rarely one of them, since the earlier Mana games have a similar cartoon style and the artwork is both aesthetically pleasing, consistent throughout the world, and unique; you can always recognize a game by the Legend of Mana developers. The game play and story were much less successful. Secret of Mana (the first game in the series as far as many Americans were concerned) had an elaborate fighting system using top-down perspectives, chargeable weapons, and most importantly, as many as three players active at once! Conversely, Legend uses a side view with 3D elements but not graphics, letting characters move up and down to reach different levels of the ground but with almost no way of directly interacting above or below you. In other words, it was a traditional beat-em-up game like Final Fight with magic and slightly more options. In addition, while you can have as many as three characters on your team, one was always a computer-controlled golem or monster. The second character can be player controlled, but it was never a permanent part of the party, instead being related to the current story, one of the apprentices the main character gets early on, or the main character from the other player's save file. Either way, it's doubtful the second character will be at the same level of power that the main character is, either unbalancing the entire adventure or becoming useless as a result.
The story loses points, in some eyes, in the lack of focus, the way the individual story arcs could halt for hours while the avatar builds up the lands needed to continue them, and the often bizarre and surreal stories in the first place. Others complained that these arcs have nothing to do with the game's ultimate conclusion. You have to complete at least one of the main three (or possibly two, it's been a while,) to open up the final level, but which one you complete has almost no bearing on the final area or the game's story.
It's that surrealism that appeals to me, however. Say what you want about the stories in Legend of Mana, but they were almost nothing like the stories I had gotten accustomed to after so many RPGs. And the staggered way they were presented helps make the world itself seem more expansive and real. It wasn't just a line of quests, empty of any other point or motivation beyond serving you. Okay, it was, but it disguised this fact much more thoroughly. Combined with the often bittersweet and dark story arcs, a strange thing for such a fancifully styled game, and it makes the world much more real.
But all that still wouldn't be enough were it not for the music, which is flawless. From the exciting action scores to the sorrowful dirges of ruined towns to the epic conclusions of the story arcs, the music constantly captures the tone of the game and accentuates it. Done by Yoko Shimomura, famous for her work with Kingdom Hearts and countless other games, it manages to do something that even now rarely happens to me; it created a video game that made me cry. And it didn't just do it once. No, the ending of one of the three arcs has made me cry every time I beat it. Who knows if it still would today, but I certainly couldn't resist it in those days.
Between the music, the art, the often touching stories, and the sheer expanse of the game, it remains a personal favorite. I didn't even get into the more complex features, from the weapon and armor forging to the garden and even programming the simple AI logic of your pet golems. This game, like Majora's Mask, taught me that if one is to make a story about saving the world, one can't do so without making characters worth saving.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
My Ideas: I Wrote a Screenplay! Damnit!
Those who have been paying attention to my blogs will probably guess what this one is about. For much of the last month, I wrote a screenplay in some of my free time. The goal revolved around ScriptFrenzy, a Nanowrimo variant for just this sort of thing. The goal was to write 100 pages in 30 days. And I succeeded! Well, sort of.
Okay, here's what ended up happening. I did write over 100 pages in 30 days! Unfortunately, I didn't remember to actually update it until after midnight, central time. So officially, I didn't win. But that's okay! I did write the 100 pages required. More importantly, I did finish the story itself, as of....
Now! For the record, that's about three hours after the last line here was written. I've been busy. However, it's over! I wrote a screenplay! More importantly, this was notable for being the single least planned, prepared, or conceived of writing I ever made. I changed my entire plan a day before the actual ScriptFrenzy began, had nothing but a setting and skeletal outline to start with, made of major characters on the spot, killed off the original male lead a quarter of the way in, and had no idea what the ending was until I wrote it. It was the most hectic writing I've ever done, but I succeeded.
So why do I feel unsatisfied? Well, for one thing, I think it has to do with the way the rest of this month felt. I was busy, depressed at work, depressed about life and financial issues, and this felt like an add-on to that; more a distraction than a creation. More importantly, though, it was too easy. Despite all the challenges mentioned above and the total lack of preparation, I beat the challenge's requirements with ease. Granted, 100 pages is much easier than Nanowrimo, but still, shouldn't I have felt some struggle with this? Now I know I can write pretty much anything required of me in a matter of a week or two (if motivated and other jobs were not problems, obviously,) but what's next? What's left to do?
So the thing feels a little empty. The story needs revision, sure, but it's not bad. It has a good narrative line, interesting characters, references to past moments in the ending, growth, death, revelations, the whole shebang. But the ending is a total sequel ending copout, mostly because I couldn't find a way to resolve the big questions of the script in the allotted space and story arc, and the whole thing felt rushed, as if it was the movie adaptation of a season or two of a television show. There are no links to the story of my other ideas, a rare thing indeed, though such a thing can still come to pass.
Nonetheless, I'm happy with it in general. Since the requirement was 100+ pages and my investment rule limits things I made under 100 pages, I obviously can't give away everything, but I'll summarize the concept. The entire script takes place inside a machine of massive proportions, so big in fact that a tribe of semi-nomadic primitives live inside one single component of it and are unaware anything else exists! They worship the machine collectively and live by making sacrifices, receiving "blessings" in the form of garbage ejected from a pneumatic tube. Despite this, they survive relatively well, but when a disaster strikes the village, some of its surviving members of the younger generation leave, seeking resolution, restoration of a loved ones' good name, or more selfish desires. They soon learn truths about the place, including the discovery of a city that produces the garbage they have been consuming. Anyone willing to sift through 100 pages of this thing and give me revision notes is welcome to do so.
Okay, here's what ended up happening. I did write over 100 pages in 30 days! Unfortunately, I didn't remember to actually update it until after midnight, central time. So officially, I didn't win. But that's okay! I did write the 100 pages required. More importantly, I did finish the story itself, as of....
Now! For the record, that's about three hours after the last line here was written. I've been busy. However, it's over! I wrote a screenplay! More importantly, this was notable for being the single least planned, prepared, or conceived of writing I ever made. I changed my entire plan a day before the actual ScriptFrenzy began, had nothing but a setting and skeletal outline to start with, made of major characters on the spot, killed off the original male lead a quarter of the way in, and had no idea what the ending was until I wrote it. It was the most hectic writing I've ever done, but I succeeded.
So why do I feel unsatisfied? Well, for one thing, I think it has to do with the way the rest of this month felt. I was busy, depressed at work, depressed about life and financial issues, and this felt like an add-on to that; more a distraction than a creation. More importantly, though, it was too easy. Despite all the challenges mentioned above and the total lack of preparation, I beat the challenge's requirements with ease. Granted, 100 pages is much easier than Nanowrimo, but still, shouldn't I have felt some struggle with this? Now I know I can write pretty much anything required of me in a matter of a week or two (if motivated and other jobs were not problems, obviously,) but what's next? What's left to do?
So the thing feels a little empty. The story needs revision, sure, but it's not bad. It has a good narrative line, interesting characters, references to past moments in the ending, growth, death, revelations, the whole shebang. But the ending is a total sequel ending copout, mostly because I couldn't find a way to resolve the big questions of the script in the allotted space and story arc, and the whole thing felt rushed, as if it was the movie adaptation of a season or two of a television show. There are no links to the story of my other ideas, a rare thing indeed, though such a thing can still come to pass.
Nonetheless, I'm happy with it in general. Since the requirement was 100+ pages and my investment rule limits things I made under 100 pages, I obviously can't give away everything, but I'll summarize the concept. The entire script takes place inside a machine of massive proportions, so big in fact that a tribe of semi-nomadic primitives live inside one single component of it and are unaware anything else exists! They worship the machine collectively and live by making sacrifices, receiving "blessings" in the form of garbage ejected from a pneumatic tube. Despite this, they survive relatively well, but when a disaster strikes the village, some of its surviving members of the younger generation leave, seeking resolution, restoration of a loved ones' good name, or more selfish desires. They soon learn truths about the place, including the discovery of a city that produces the garbage they have been consuming. Anyone willing to sift through 100 pages of this thing and give me revision notes is welcome to do so.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Reviews: Okay, Fine, One Review
My plan was to do two reviews tonight, one of them being Smash Brothers Brawl, but two things are keeping me. First of all, time became a problem, and second of all, I feel I could still do more with Brawl before I want to review it. Instead, I'll just do one game, Paper Mario.
Paper Mario is a very old game, actually, brought back thanks to the Wii's Virtual Console. It's an RPG introduced in Nintendo's N64 era, though unlike most games in this 3D friendly era, it's mostly two dimensional. The game is a spiritual sequel to the Super Nintendo's Mari RPG, but the designer is different and there is a new art style and game play. In this game, you play as Mario who has to defeat Bowser, which is pretty typical for a Mario game but surprisingly simple for a Mario RPG. Nearly every game has Bowser as a reluctant ally or clueless bystander compared to the much worse villains each RPG introduces. The story is equally simple. To defeat Bowser, Mario has to collect seven magical macguffins, each guarded by a usual challenge and boss guardian, to dent the otherwise indestructible final boss and reach his inaccessible lair.
One problem with the story is that I already played Paper Mario 2: The Thousand Year Door and Super Paper Mario, and both had both more advanced stories and better writing. The characters are more developed, the missions more varied, and the humor more clever. By comparison, things felt flat in Paper Mario.
The gameplay is where Paper Mario shines, of course. The game's party is minimalistic; you can only ever have Mario and a second character that serves as an ally/assistant. This ally has no hit points, no equipment to modify, and a grand total of two levels to gain, though at the maximum level each partner has four attacks. Each one has different abilities, as well, making it wise to change them on a regular basis based on what enemies you fight. As a Mario RPG, there are action elements. Button presses affect Mario's attacks and defenses, and good timing does more damage or even doubles your attack strength, while defenses reduce enemy attacks by at least one point of damage. That may seem minor, but unlike the average RPG, where attacks do thousands of points of damage by the end of the game, in this game you're lucky to do 10 points of damage for an attack at the end of the game.
All the partners have similar action commands, though they are different with each player. The player also gains a number of special attacks, and unlike the normal mp system in the game, this one is more a sliding scale that raises with combat and turns spent on improving it. The real advantage of this variety of abilities is it gives a number of special traits and weaknesses to the enemies, so the character has to exploit them. Shelled enemies like koopas are heavily armored but can be stunned by knocking them upside down, enemies with spikes on their head/back are immune to jump attacks normally, and fire-based enemies are immune to any attack regarded as direct physical attack but not weapon attacks.
Outside of combat, the game uses experience levels, but nothing increases automatically. Instead, the character can choose to increase maximum health, maximum magic points, or "badges." Badges are other modifications that can be made to Mario. They include base enhancements, like increases to damage, defenses, and even hit points/magic points, but it also includes all magic-based special attacks for Mario and abilities in specific situations, like if Mario is low on health, looking for hidden items on the normal game world, or uses specific kinds of attacks or items.
Again, the original doesn't compare to the sequels. The second Paper Mario game had hit points and other traits for characters, a very clever "stage" system that replaces the normal special attacks' sliding bar, and a wider range of abilities for badges. Paper Mario is more an exploration of history and a great starting point for the series. It's just like playing Super Mario Brothers after already play Super Mario 3. Of course, as an RPG, it takes much longer to play, but depending on how much time you kill, it shouldn't take much more than twenty hours, making it a reasonably quick RPG. I give the game a B for now, but it could be an A- if seen with fresh eyes. I suggest you give it a try, enjoy the weird world of Paper Mario, and laugh at the Ninja Turtles parody back when it was closer to relevant. If you must.
Paper Mario is a very old game, actually, brought back thanks to the Wii's Virtual Console. It's an RPG introduced in Nintendo's N64 era, though unlike most games in this 3D friendly era, it's mostly two dimensional. The game is a spiritual sequel to the Super Nintendo's Mari RPG, but the designer is different and there is a new art style and game play. In this game, you play as Mario who has to defeat Bowser, which is pretty typical for a Mario game but surprisingly simple for a Mario RPG. Nearly every game has Bowser as a reluctant ally or clueless bystander compared to the much worse villains each RPG introduces. The story is equally simple. To defeat Bowser, Mario has to collect seven magical macguffins, each guarded by a usual challenge and boss guardian, to dent the otherwise indestructible final boss and reach his inaccessible lair.
One problem with the story is that I already played Paper Mario 2: The Thousand Year Door and Super Paper Mario, and both had both more advanced stories and better writing. The characters are more developed, the missions more varied, and the humor more clever. By comparison, things felt flat in Paper Mario.
The gameplay is where Paper Mario shines, of course. The game's party is minimalistic; you can only ever have Mario and a second character that serves as an ally/assistant. This ally has no hit points, no equipment to modify, and a grand total of two levels to gain, though at the maximum level each partner has four attacks. Each one has different abilities, as well, making it wise to change them on a regular basis based on what enemies you fight. As a Mario RPG, there are action elements. Button presses affect Mario's attacks and defenses, and good timing does more damage or even doubles your attack strength, while defenses reduce enemy attacks by at least one point of damage. That may seem minor, but unlike the average RPG, where attacks do thousands of points of damage by the end of the game, in this game you're lucky to do 10 points of damage for an attack at the end of the game.
All the partners have similar action commands, though they are different with each player. The player also gains a number of special attacks, and unlike the normal mp system in the game, this one is more a sliding scale that raises with combat and turns spent on improving it. The real advantage of this variety of abilities is it gives a number of special traits and weaknesses to the enemies, so the character has to exploit them. Shelled enemies like koopas are heavily armored but can be stunned by knocking them upside down, enemies with spikes on their head/back are immune to jump attacks normally, and fire-based enemies are immune to any attack regarded as direct physical attack but not weapon attacks.
Outside of combat, the game uses experience levels, but nothing increases automatically. Instead, the character can choose to increase maximum health, maximum magic points, or "badges." Badges are other modifications that can be made to Mario. They include base enhancements, like increases to damage, defenses, and even hit points/magic points, but it also includes all magic-based special attacks for Mario and abilities in specific situations, like if Mario is low on health, looking for hidden items on the normal game world, or uses specific kinds of attacks or items.
Again, the original doesn't compare to the sequels. The second Paper Mario game had hit points and other traits for characters, a very clever "stage" system that replaces the normal special attacks' sliding bar, and a wider range of abilities for badges. Paper Mario is more an exploration of history and a great starting point for the series. It's just like playing Super Mario Brothers after already play Super Mario 3. Of course, as an RPG, it takes much longer to play, but depending on how much time you kill, it shouldn't take much more than twenty hours, making it a reasonably quick RPG. I give the game a B for now, but it could be an A- if seen with fresh eyes. I suggest you give it a try, enjoy the weird world of Paper Mario, and laugh at the Ninja Turtles parody back when it was closer to relevant. If you must.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Rantings: Genre Ranting #1
This blog starts a new mini-theme within the whole ranting theme. In this section, I'll be discussing a specific genre of video game and what I like and dislike about it. I'll start with a genre that I like, but that isn't one of my favorites, to give me a more balanced look at how this theme will work.
This time, the topic will be survival horror games, and to a lesser degree horror games in general. Now, I may not know everything about this genre, but I have played many of the most important games of the genre. I have played all four of the regular Resident Evil games, though not the semi-side story Code Veronica, the prequel Resident Evil 0, and the other assorted spin-offs. I much prefer the Silent Hill games, including all four regular games of THAT series. But my collection ends with Eternal Darkness; I never played Alone in the Dark, Clock Tower, Siren, that recent zombie game I forgot the name of, and so on. No, take that back. I also played half of the first Fatal Frame game.
Still, I understand how the genre works. It's a tricky series to get right. The problem with the survival horror is that the series serves two masters. Horror requires that the player be scared of the situation, which means a sense of danger and loss. Often, this means that the character is in much worse circumstances than the normal hero. Enemies are numerous and more powerful than the hero, resources to fight them are limited, save points and healing are usually few and far between, and death is often instantaneous. On the other hand, games require some sense of balance and "fun." Constantly replaying the same cut scenes, dealing with limited inventories and shifting items into and out of boxes, and avoiding enemies to even survive, gets frustrating. It's that sense of balance that makes things difficult.
I think the trick is to determine how much of survival is "survival" and "horror." The trick is finding ways to scare the player in other ways. Here are the ways that I see the genre works.
1) The Survival element. Resident Evil, save for maybe 4, are based on this element. Save points are limited to a number of typewriter ribbons and can only be used in said typewriters. The only weapon most of the time are guns with minimal ammo. Every time you venture into unknown territory, you know it will cost you part of your precious resources, and safe territories don't exist. You likely had to dodge some of the monsters instead of killing them to get that far, and even if you did kill them all, the game loves respawning old enemies or tossing in new ones. This creates an ongoing sense of dread, though as I warned before it also can be frustrating and tedious. Often, tricks, even ones that kill the mood, are used to kill monsters without using as much ammunition, like letting enemies get as close as possible before aiming straight up with a shotgun, killing a zombie with one blast.
2) The shock value. The Resident Evil games are famous for that, as well, to the point where they coined the "Monster jump out of windows," syndrome. The scare comes from dangerous, or at least scary-looking, events that seemingly come out of nowhere. Rarely is this sudden appearance a major threat, but they break players out of their status quo and sphere of comfort. Overuse of this gimmick can lead to derision and boredom, but when done right, like a certain unforgettable scene about a quarter into Eternal Darkness, it sticks to gamers' minds for years.
3) The seen and known. In other words, this means the aesthetics are scary. While Resident Evil does a bit of this, both because of the inherent Uncanny Valley related fears of zombies and the more exotic monsters, this is the bread and butter of Silent Hill. The monsters tend to be pseudo-Freudian abominations so unnatural that one can't even be certain what they are even when seeing them directly. How they move and act is as scary as the attacks themselves. But the setting itself is designed to be as disturbing as the monsters. A small town is transformed into a hell of torture implements, infernal machinery, and rickety gratings over oblivion.
4) Narrative fears. Eternal Darkness relies on this sort of scare. It's not the gameplay that matters in this fear, it's the meaning of the game. For example, in Eternal Darkness, the fear comes from the nigh omnipotent horrors that will inevitably conquer the planet, and the only point of victory is to delay that destruction by a brief amount of time. Even with the relatively easy gameplay with nigh-infinite abilities to heal and enemies you can decapitate in one attack, the constant presence of doom and a story that does horrible things to your sympathetic protagonists constantly keeps the player on edge.
5) Fear of the unknown. This is often considered the most "sophisticated" of fears, because it lets the player's imaginations create the fear for them. Silent Hill uses a lot of these as well, in the areas where the previously mentioned "town from hell" areas are not present. In these cases, the town is shrouded in fog, making it impossible to see what's even a few feet away. However, the threats are still there even when not seen, and the series' use of the radio which plays static whenever a monster is near uses it. This tells the player that something nearby wants to kill them, but there's no way of knowing what or where. The strange monsters again take advantage of that. Since they look so strange, it often takes a long time to even understand the enemy and know exactly what they are. Eternal Darkness uses this as well. Some of the insanity effects are shock values, and others are aesthetic changes when the player's sanity is low. But the fact that these effects are completely random and numerous enough that a player may never see them all adds that fear of the unknown, as does the fact that every location can change as sanity gets lower. A mansion might be normal when you first explore it, but you know that if you revisit when your sanity gets lower, it will be much different and much worse.
If you add up all five, you can have a game that offers a wide variety of scares, often without sacrificing a game that's fun, or at least not annoying. Some games don't get it exactly right (Silent Hill 4 is notoriously irritating for its invincible foes, much more limited resources than earlier Silent Hill games, a constant escort mission in the game's second half, and a limited inventory box,) but those that do get it right are exceptional and terrifying. In an era where horror movies are flood of sub-par remakes, unambitious adaptations of Japanese movies, and torture porn, a survival horror game is a welcome scare indeed.
This time, the topic will be survival horror games, and to a lesser degree horror games in general. Now, I may not know everything about this genre, but I have played many of the most important games of the genre. I have played all four of the regular Resident Evil games, though not the semi-side story Code Veronica, the prequel Resident Evil 0, and the other assorted spin-offs. I much prefer the Silent Hill games, including all four regular games of THAT series. But my collection ends with Eternal Darkness; I never played Alone in the Dark, Clock Tower, Siren, that recent zombie game I forgot the name of, and so on. No, take that back. I also played half of the first Fatal Frame game.
Still, I understand how the genre works. It's a tricky series to get right. The problem with the survival horror is that the series serves two masters. Horror requires that the player be scared of the situation, which means a sense of danger and loss. Often, this means that the character is in much worse circumstances than the normal hero. Enemies are numerous and more powerful than the hero, resources to fight them are limited, save points and healing are usually few and far between, and death is often instantaneous. On the other hand, games require some sense of balance and "fun." Constantly replaying the same cut scenes, dealing with limited inventories and shifting items into and out of boxes, and avoiding enemies to even survive, gets frustrating. It's that sense of balance that makes things difficult.
I think the trick is to determine how much of survival is "survival" and "horror." The trick is finding ways to scare the player in other ways. Here are the ways that I see the genre works.
1) The Survival element. Resident Evil, save for maybe 4, are based on this element. Save points are limited to a number of typewriter ribbons and can only be used in said typewriters. The only weapon most of the time are guns with minimal ammo. Every time you venture into unknown territory, you know it will cost you part of your precious resources, and safe territories don't exist. You likely had to dodge some of the monsters instead of killing them to get that far, and even if you did kill them all, the game loves respawning old enemies or tossing in new ones. This creates an ongoing sense of dread, though as I warned before it also can be frustrating and tedious. Often, tricks, even ones that kill the mood, are used to kill monsters without using as much ammunition, like letting enemies get as close as possible before aiming straight up with a shotgun, killing a zombie with one blast.
2) The shock value. The Resident Evil games are famous for that, as well, to the point where they coined the "Monster jump out of windows," syndrome. The scare comes from dangerous, or at least scary-looking, events that seemingly come out of nowhere. Rarely is this sudden appearance a major threat, but they break players out of their status quo and sphere of comfort. Overuse of this gimmick can lead to derision and boredom, but when done right, like a certain unforgettable scene about a quarter into Eternal Darkness, it sticks to gamers' minds for years.
3) The seen and known. In other words, this means the aesthetics are scary. While Resident Evil does a bit of this, both because of the inherent Uncanny Valley related fears of zombies and the more exotic monsters, this is the bread and butter of Silent Hill. The monsters tend to be pseudo-Freudian abominations so unnatural that one can't even be certain what they are even when seeing them directly. How they move and act is as scary as the attacks themselves. But the setting itself is designed to be as disturbing as the monsters. A small town is transformed into a hell of torture implements, infernal machinery, and rickety gratings over oblivion.
4) Narrative fears. Eternal Darkness relies on this sort of scare. It's not the gameplay that matters in this fear, it's the meaning of the game. For example, in Eternal Darkness, the fear comes from the nigh omnipotent horrors that will inevitably conquer the planet, and the only point of victory is to delay that destruction by a brief amount of time. Even with the relatively easy gameplay with nigh-infinite abilities to heal and enemies you can decapitate in one attack, the constant presence of doom and a story that does horrible things to your sympathetic protagonists constantly keeps the player on edge.
5) Fear of the unknown. This is often considered the most "sophisticated" of fears, because it lets the player's imaginations create the fear for them. Silent Hill uses a lot of these as well, in the areas where the previously mentioned "town from hell" areas are not present. In these cases, the town is shrouded in fog, making it impossible to see what's even a few feet away. However, the threats are still there even when not seen, and the series' use of the radio which plays static whenever a monster is near uses it. This tells the player that something nearby wants to kill them, but there's no way of knowing what or where. The strange monsters again take advantage of that. Since they look so strange, it often takes a long time to even understand the enemy and know exactly what they are. Eternal Darkness uses this as well. Some of the insanity effects are shock values, and others are aesthetic changes when the player's sanity is low. But the fact that these effects are completely random and numerous enough that a player may never see them all adds that fear of the unknown, as does the fact that every location can change as sanity gets lower. A mansion might be normal when you first explore it, but you know that if you revisit when your sanity gets lower, it will be much different and much worse.
If you add up all five, you can have a game that offers a wide variety of scares, often without sacrificing a game that's fun, or at least not annoying. Some games don't get it exactly right (Silent Hill 4 is notoriously irritating for its invincible foes, much more limited resources than earlier Silent Hill games, a constant escort mission in the game's second half, and a limited inventory box,) but those that do get it right are exceptional and terrifying. In an era where horror movies are flood of sub-par remakes, unambitious adaptations of Japanese movies, and torture porn, a survival horror game is a welcome scare indeed.
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