My colleague and coworker Leigh Alexander yesterday published a semi-defense of Visceral Games’ (nee EA Redwood Shores) upcoming “adaptation” of Dante’s Inferno (entitled Dante’s Inferno). By “semi-defense” I mean she didn’t explicitly and enthusiastically endorse the game, but generally supported its right to exist under EARS’ chosen title and its self-professed association with a work that, to a large extent, set the direction for the modern Italian language.

It’s definitely a reasonable point of view. Certainly no developer has any responsibility to be particularly literary or high-minded. Anyone who listens to Idle Thumbs knows my personal distaste for the game is hyperbolic and probably comically exaggerated at times. But, actually, it’s a genuine frustration, because to me it is emblematic a larger issue. Here, slightly tweaked, is the comment I made in response to Leigh’s post:

“I just don’t see why this is based on Dante’s Inferno. If, as some have claimed, the core market doesn’t care about the game’s adherence to its ’source material’ — and surely it doesn’t — what usefulness is it to claim association in the first place?

“This could have been simply a game influenced by Dante’s imagery, as so many creative works have been over the centuries, rather than actually claiming to be any kind of even remotely meaningful adaptation of the poem. To me, it’s an amazing vindication of the claims of video games’ inability to thoughtfully construct ANY kind of meaningful thought: here’s how video games adapt one of Western culture’s defining literary works, and it consists of brutally ripping apart demons for eight hours, surely complete with idiotic throwaway one-liners.

“I know it’s not the duty of any individual game designer to ‘justify’ games to anyone who doesn’t play them, and it shouldn’t be, and obviously as a gamer I know full well that games are capable of more than this. But the reality is that most games DON’T have anything to say; most games DON’T communicate any meaningful thought; and most games DON’T deal with their subject matter in anything other than the basest, most ridiculous way. You could say the same for most fiction of any medium, but it’s certainly even more true for games.

“That’s clearly not a dealbreaker for me, since I still play a lot of video games, including the ones covered in the category I described above, and it doesn’t bother me all that much; if it did, I wouldn’t play, write about, and talk about so many games.

“But by claiming to have anything to do with Dante’s Inferno, this game loudly echoes that trend in a particularly frustrating way. It could have simply been called ‘Righteous Duty’ or whatever bullshit name [edit: Clint Hocking suggests 'Demon Hunter,' 'To Hell and Back,' 'Love be Damned,' 'Infernal'] with the same plot and mechanics — they could have even given Dante a shoutout in their ridiculous PR pitches — and I don’t think I would have batted an eye. But as the game industry’s big-budget, highly-publicized representation of a work that everybody knows by cultural osmosis, even if they’ve never read a word of it, it’s a big huge fucking depressing failure.”

God of War, which many have pointed out as a counterpoint to the general opinion I espouse, takes that latter approach. But while I’m not personally a God of War fan, it doesn’t offend me as a gamer; it’s just not my kind of game, mechanically speaking.

God of War is directly influenced by Greek mythology, but it doesn’t claim any kind of definitive association with a particular work in its title. Rather, it uses the cultural source material as a rough touchstone. Dante’s Inferno, ironically, appears to depart even more from its source material than God of War does, but makes an implicit claim that it is more related.

As Clint Hocking points out in a comment following mine, this also has the side effect of delegitimizing any hypothetical future video game interpretations of The Divine Comedy. (There have been “adaptations” in the past, but none with anywhere near the visibility and marketing might of an Electronic Arts production.) It basically guarantees the video game take on Dante’s epic to be juvenile nonsense. It may be a fun video game; I make no claims about that one way or the other, but it certainly isn’t what its title says it is.

I also don’t mean to imply I have any desire for a better Divine Comedy game; it’s never something I’ve particularly longed for, and I don’t mean to call for it now. I’m not saying EA should be making a game closer to the source material; I’m saying they should never have claimed the association to begin with.

If none of my arguments have been at all convincing, just load up this incredible video and skip to about 4:50. Maybe the whole interview is a piss take. But is that really relevant, when it appears to be 100% accurate anyway?

Ten years after declaring Grim Fandango its Game of the Year for 1998, GameSpot has bestowed that same honor for 2008 upon Metal Gear Solid 4: Guns of the Patriots.

I don’t really want to get deep into MGS4 here, because there were some things about it I liked, but I was struck by some of the comments given by GameSpot editors in the video posted alongside the choice, at least for the minute or two of it I watched. Most of them had to do with the game’s storytelling aspects.

“It finds a perfect harmony between gameplay and storytelling,” said one editor. “Some people said, ‘I watched it as much as I played it,’ but that’s part of what makes it so incredible,” added another.

To me, MGS4 had less of a harmony between gameplay and storytelling, and more of a yo-yo. I find it somewhat sobering that in a decade of astonishing progress in rendering, physics, interface, scale, and complexity, the high watermark for video game storytelling (at least, according to one particular site, notable for being both highly ubiquitous and read, and extremely long-running in internet time) has gone from being exemplified by elegance, breathtaking creativity, and amazingly sharp dialogue to being exemplified by overblown melodrama, ludicrously cumbersome plotting, and cheap tragedy.

It’s probably also worth noting, since this is ostensibly about games, that measured either in terms of pure hours or more charitably as a proportion of overall game time, Metal Gear Solid’s non-interactive cutscene content (including bits where you just move a camera around) probably outweigh Grim Fandango’s by several times—and Grim Fandango is a graphic adventure game.

Just sayin’.

Ubisoft Montreal’s Far Cry 2 is not an inviting game. Like the war-torn (and presumably fictional) African state it depicts, Far Cry 2 is brutal, sparse, and offers little guidance.

Right from the start, your vulnerabilities are made clear: weapons you find on the ground rust and jam; you periodically suffer the effects of malaria; damaged vehicles require basic engine maintenance; and serious injuries demand improvised surgery, often with pliers.

On top of that, combat encounters (often approached with those rusted, jamming-prone guns) are fairly straightforward FPS affairs, and with the amount of mission-to-mission driving required in the game’s enormous open world, their frequency can grate.

Many gamers have gone online to post initial frustrations with the game — an understandable reaction from the perspective of somebody unaccustomed to its structure and design ethic, particularly in the context of an FPS.

But in the week since its release, there has been an interesting phenomenon unfolding. I have seen more and more posts by people announcing that Far Cry 2 finally “clicks” with them, that they have internalized the game’s structure and systems, and have been rewarded with unique, memorable moments.

For me, those have been Far Cry 2’s stock in trade. Game designers often speak about the dominance of the personal player story over the designer’s authored narrative. Indeed, that potential is powerful, and clearly more relevant to games than any other entertainment medium. But practically speaking, to me, relatively few games truly exploit that potential.

Far Cry 2 has been an exception. (more…)

It’s a bit cheesy to keep linking to new Idle Thumbs episodes, but we’re trying to cobble together a listenership so here it goes again. You should totally check it out, that would be rad.

This week we featured special guest Steve Gaynor, designer at 2K Marin on the upcoming BioShock 2: Sea of Dreams. Steve’s a great guy, and he writes a great blog—I’m sure you will find his comments sufficiently insightful and enlightening.

The biggest topic of the podcast was BioWare’s Star Wars: The Old Republic MMO, whose announcement event Nick and I attended, but there’s also discussion of weird Fable II shenanigans, Yakuza 2, and a dubious sponsorship by little-known Gaming Grub competitor Ultra Boost. iTunes!

When I think about Fable II, I think about real estate and sex.

That’s not to say the game’s mechanics surrounding those elements define the game, but I’ll focus on them here because they are areas not commonly explored in the actual gameplay mechanics of most fantasy-set action RPG.

At least, they aren’t often included with this kind of impressively egalitarian scope. With remarkably few exceptions, all property that seems like it should be ownable in the game can be purchased, be it a private home or a place of business. This includes a castle.

And matching that breadth, so too can you marry or engage in (strictly off-screen) intercourse with nearly any non-quest-related NPC with whom your sexual orientation and gender are compatible; each citizen is classified as straight, gay, lesbian, or bisexual, and nobody in Albion has passed a defense of marriage amendment.

Developer Lionhead Studios (and, one suspects, designer Peter Molyneux in particular) very much wants you to be aware of its sex-related feature set: the first item I encountered for sale by a merchant was a condom. Not long afterwards, my dog excitedly guided me to some buried treasure, and then panted and wagged his tail excitedly as I dug up another prophylactic. (more…)

I just saw James Cameron’s Aliens for the first time. Now I know where video games come from.

Also: Hey, new site name.

(Edit: Hey, somebody Dugg me! Go Digg it up! Hooray internet!)

This man wants to become the best game designer ever.

As such, he’s making a game. He is also homeless, buried in credit card debt with nearly no money to his name, and living out of a shelter, equipped with nothing but a computer and a copy of Game Maker 7.0. As he states in his blog profile, “I hate working!”

At first, it is difficult to know whether to believe his claims, this being the internet. A bit of investigation reveals that he asked on the GameDev forums, “Is it possible to design and/or program games, while being homeless?” In that post, dated September 5, he noted he was “losing my place of residence soon.” Two days later, he created his blog. In the inaugural post, he says, “I’m broke, homeless, and I don’t have a job,” and lays out his plan to develop his own game, without necessarily getting a job dedicated to “making someone else rich.”

He also welcomes monetary donations, explaining, “I’m broke niggas. I’m broke.”

Early on, I fluctuated between being belief and skepticism. These days, the default reaction to this sort of thing is that viral marketing is afoot, but it seems too self-contained to be that. His GameDev posts don’t promote or link to his blog in any way, not even subtly, nor do the scant few other posts I was able to dig up elsewhere, all of which seem to be earnest game development inquiries.

The game was originally a platformer entitled The NeoVerse, and included moving platforms, the ability to swim “exactly like it is in Super Mario,” and a rocket launcher. This game seems intertwined with another idea, “a blend of old school Castlevania 2D type of game with Super Mario RPG,” which eventually became more focused on the platforming elements and was redubbed Me Vs. My Robots. (more…)

I rarely make posts devoted solely to content published elsewhere as part of my job, but I did want to mention an interview that ran today on Gamasutra that I conducted with Dead Space’s producer Chuck Beaver. It was one of the more enjoyable interviews I’ve done recently, because Chuck was able to speak easily and entertainingly about the considerably thought he and his team put into the game’s design decisions. It’s always fun to be able to speak with somebody who can deliver a relevant response even when I get off the rails a bit with my questions.

From what I’ve seen and played, Dead Space seems to be one of those games that won’t be hailed as revolutionary inside and out, but will try its hand with a few intriguing progressive design elements and, perhaps more importantly, coalesces around a fairly defined and coherent design sensibility.

For example, the HUD interface, which takes the form of a projected hologram manipulated by the third-person protagonist, isn’t functionally innovative, but from a design perspective seems to take the best part of an in-world UI (the realism) and the best part of a traditional separate-screen menu (its cleanliness and straightforwardness). It’s not groundbreaking, but it’s very slick, and adds to the realization of the sci-fi game world.

Here are some excerpts:

You were saying when you make decisions about “no cutscenes” or the integrated UI, one of the hardest parts [of development] can be convincing [the team] to do it in the first place.

CB: Yeah. People are really almost religious about their belief in what we should and shouldn’t do. It’s a big binary switch, like, “Are we going to have cutscenes, or are we not going to have cutscenes?” because it’s a big, big deal in design. When we decided in the beginning that we were going to take [the switch], we’re like, “Alright, let’s go for it. Let’s go for it!” (more…)

Due to a strange quirk of my gaming history, I never played a numbered Civilization game beyond the original Civ (also known as Sid Meier’s Civilization: Build an Empire to Stand the Test of Time). That game I utterly consumed back in the early 90s when it was released, probably completing the game with every possible combination of civilization and victory condition.

Civ II, for example, wasn’t released until 1996, five years after its predecessor (I had spent much of that intervening period playing Civ), and at that point Quake, and then the mod Quake 40K/Chapter Honour (boy, there’s a site I haven’t seen in ages), become my time-sucking game of choice.

During most periods of my life, I’ve tried to consistently play games in a variety of genres—in the 90s, I was mainly into adventure games, shooters, and strategy games—but I’ve also generally had one game that lurks in the background, filling the cracks in my gaming time between this title or that title. Civ was probably the first game to hold that honor. (more…)

For all the traffic Crysis Warhead has inadvertently given me, I might as well share my final thoughts about the game itself now that I’ve bought and completed it.

First off: I was quite a fan of the original Crysis. It wasn’t a perfectly polished game by any means, and like most people I feel the team severely dropped the ball during the last third or so, when it turned into a surprisingly conventional tunnel shooter with aliens. But until that point, Crysis delivered some of the most open, player-driven, potentially deep gameplay I’ve ever seen in a straight-up shooter. To my mind, cries of “tech demo!” ring as falsely to me now as they did a year ago.

I say “potentially deep” because if you don’t really invest yourself into the freedom of the game’s open environments and the focus added by the game’s ability-boosting nanosuit and weapon customization, I can see where Crysis could come off as more conventional. It is also a very rare case where I consider playing on a higher difficulty level to go beyond being a personal player choice and actually becoming a crucial part of experiencing the game design in a fulfilling way. Recognizing your character’s vulnerabilities and being forced to consider your tactics carefully actually coax out depth in the mechanics—and, paradoxically, highlight your character’s suit-enhanced strengths—to a higher degree than is typical.

With that preface out of the way, it appears that Crytek decided to play it a little safer with Warhead. It is a much less “pure” expression of the design ethic demonstrated in Crysis before that game’s tonal shift. Gone—or, more accurately, significantly reduced—are the hours upon hours of pure tropical openness, in which you essentially began at Point A, then were given a Point B and little else. Those experiences still occur, but they are less frequent, and generally less sprawling. Here, they are less of the main experience and more like the occasional stretches of relaxing, open-road highway freedom between rest stops—if your rest stops consist of blowing a whole lot of shit up. (more…)