0 Now Playing… #5

Jamestown: Legend of the Lost Colony (PC) – Final Form Games

They all look the same.

It’s the rethoric du jour when it comes to shmups; a consensual blindness that in two strokes, fails to recognize the genre’s intricate evolution and gives carte blance to other series which do little other than affixing subtitles or numerals to stale formulas. Jamestown shouldn’t be seen as an eye opener to the history of shmups, at least mechanically; its strength lies more in its creative vision than the scope of its gameplay. This doesn’t mean its systems are outdated or lacking in verve, but these will seem a secondary or tertiary concern when juxtaposed with the concept, and that is:

A shmup set in a 17th century British colonial Mars.

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0 Surviving (the absence of) Horror

 

A zombie, clearly.

(contains minor spoilers for Silent Hill 2, 3 and Resident Evil Zero)

It is difficult to tell what does not count as a defining element of survival horror, to distinguish perifery from focus. The genre has tried to sell horror in a playable context over the years; as such, its play mechanics and themes have been reinvestigated successively, but not always successfully. For all the virtuoso explorations of psychological and body horror that inhabit it, there are also plenty of mistakes. The most disappointing of all might be the notion of what a survival horror game “should” be. This is not endemic to the format but, with the exception of role-playing games, has probably affected it more than it should; a genre that welcomes Dead Space and excludes System Shock is pointless at best.

So, what is the horror imperative at work here? As the term suggests, it combines aspects of survival (sparse resource management, difficulty) and horror (which can go from a pervading sense of unease to disorientation or outright fear). But just as StarCraft II is not survival horror because it urges players to manage resources, neither is Dead Island simply because it presents players with crowds of zombies to deal with. These artificial taxonomies obscure other potentially important elements in the structure of horror, and where the genre can look to for inspirations.

In particular, those of one old Atari game.

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0 Now Playing… #4

Burnout Dominator, EA UK/Criterion

Some days, you just can’t go out for a stroll without bumping into idiots.

In related news, Burnout Dominator might be a serious case for crashing into idiots, along with being a case against genres. EA would like you to believe it’s a game about being highway psychopaths, and the game ostensibly does enforce the premise; the presentation might hesitate between WWF interludes and grunge visuals promoting 1999 edginess, but all else is clear. Driving recklessly is a mandate, not a cautionary tale. Which goes against what the game is actually about: rhythm.

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0 Now Playing… #3


Sonic Generations (PC), Sonic Team/Devil’s Details

Generations, like other subtitles such as Gaiden or Densetsu, tends to create a needless sense of distance and is often used to placate children who refuse any sort of changes to their favorite games – even if those turn out to be more diverse or adventurous titles than their tepid continuity flag-bearers. It’s the kind of word that gets spreadsheet-loving executives free lunches since it’s marketable, safe and can describe just about anything – from Lego sets to Nintendo’s newfound love for grandmas, from the Rolling Stones to Pepsi.

But here, the context is that of a “members only” club. Here’s Sonic, the quintessential mascot of mascot games that, perhaps unlike any other, has illustrated its parent company’s history near flawlessly, from stardom to some murky depths, doing its best inviting yet conservative stance. Whatever feelings you nurture for the spiky bundle of action’s past games, Sega has you covered by condensing 20 years of Sonic into one single title. Everyone’s invited. For better or for worse.

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0 In rainbows

Small notes on Phantasy Star Online’s themes and presentation (spoilers included)

The foggy gloom of Ragol’s Caves lifts up for a bit when you find rainbows further below its corridors. The presence of ferocious creatures does little to take away from the moment; even plagued by a disease at its core, the planet still gives glimpses of its wonder and beauty, and other such elements punctuate and give meaning to its otherwise long and minimalist depths.

Phantasy Star Online was Yuji Naka and Sonic Team’s desperate attempt to prove the breadth and potential of the Dreamcast’s online service to a market largely unaccustomed to such games. This period also marked what some believe to have been Sega’s most creative period before they left console development behind. This is true, to an extent.

On one hand, there was Jet Set Radio; if the industry had payed attention, Assassin’s Creed might have been about spreading urban zen with Grandmaster Flash’s blessing rather than knives to someone’s back. On the other, there was Shenmue, perhaps videogames’ first equivalent to a Hollywood “blockbuster” about sailors, cat grooming and forklift driving; if the industry had not payed attention, Heavy Rain might have been more interactive than Space Ace. And then there were things beyond the reach of most western players, both geographically and culturally, such as SegaGaga, better described as a mockumentary by Sega, about Sega.

The first contact with PSO was made of futurism, though one that kept its head down. As with the 16-bit series that preceded it, the science-fantasy tones were uneven. While Pioneer 2, the game’s hub, seemed a Blade Runneresque microcosm, and advanced technology did seep into the overall presentation and themes, it was comfortably medieval fantasy through and through, only one coated in neon. Thematically, even: genetic engineering and government conspiracies took place in a world where it was possible to destroy a god with a frying pan. If this seems unsophisticated, take heart – you could also use a wok.

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0 This is Not a New Glitch Manifesto

Notes on unintended horror, spook stories, glitches vs. intention

(The following article contains mild and strong spoilers about Silent Hill 2 and Eternal Darkness)

Here’s a spook story if you want to believe one.

The setting is Rebellion’s 1999 Alien vs. Predator, along the halls of the Derelict level as an Alien. This is considered a bonus level, only unlocked after playing through several levels of the main singleplayer game.

After I bought the game I couldn’t put it down, playing it for hours, days, months. I wouldn’t let go until I was clocking levels with the Alien at blinding speeds, learning the optimal pathways and moves for each scenario. 360ing those walls and hallways was a thrill Descent never quite got right and I’d spend entire days playing as a xenomorph, taunting Marines and civilians while also striving to unlock options such as a long range head munch, which is like the equivalent of being an Alien sniper.

The taunting came back with a vengeance, though. I remember one day I had played it continuously for hours and my computer was whizzing like a sputtering Sopwith. But I was having too much fun making playthings out of the humans, lurking in the shadows, blitzkrieging Marines then running away; I could hear their screams echo across the corridors as I ran away to avoid gunfire. At some point, something happened. The Marines were starting to scream and run away more often.

They did this when I was miles away from them.

A juvenile “wtf?” crossed my mind and I decided to investigate, all the while still engaging in scare tactics and the ocasional meal. I distinctively remember seeing something I hadn’t witnessed up until that point: a Marine dropping his pulse rifle and running away. That “wtf?” was now coming on in capital letters. Other soldiers were more valiant, running up at close range and shooting point blank. A quick whirl of my black tail and some feeding frenzies later I chose to pursue the Marine that got away. By now everything was breaking down into chaos, the Marines whelping, screaming, begging for mercy, shooting at everything and nothing. Perched atop some freaky 1990′s geometry, I couldn’t understand any of that. Suddenly, in the distance, I saw the one that got away, his hands over his head like a hostage running for his life in a Ghost Recon game. I chased him all across the map for several minutes, then lost him, then found him again – cowering near a door. I inched up to him, crawling silently. When I got close enough I let go of the crouch button, standing tall in a reenactment of the creatures in the movies. Shivering, breathing heavily, he slowly turned around and screamed.

The game froze but the scream kept going.

And going.

And going.

And going until I had to do a hard reset.

Nowadays its geometry may be simplistic, the Marines’ facial expressions may be laughable, but that fear when confronted with the unexpected was very powerful. I barely touched the game since then and no one I know who played the game ever experienced this glitch; attempts to replicate it have been met with failure as well. The unintended horror was magnificent and to a degree, a lot scarier than what the game had to offer. And this could only happen in a game – where we’re more likely to believe there are ghosts in the machine. Over at Five Players, Rich McCormick wrote about how spook stories are now emerging from videogames, replacing campfire tales with perversions of childhood memories we have of games, and now they’re being shared online. In some cases they’re glitches, staged in a way that enthrall audiences.

What can the glitch do for videogames, other than bring personal benefit into breaking a game? Considering AvP’s glitch, what if it had been intended to work that way, to show a different kind of cause and effect, of narrative potencial? What if it had been consciously applied to other games? It would take keen storytellers and designers to turn the intention into a glitch. After all, if it’s not spontaneous and unpredictable it’s no longer a glitch – just a predetermined function waiting to be triggered. It’s the side effect, rather than intended use, that make it a glitch. But can game design learn anything with the glitch?

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