Final Fantasy XIII is a game that I am really unsure about. The pervasive warcry of “a step backward” from the gaming press and fans has set up a discussion that I feel requires one to take sides on the truth of that statement. Michael Abbott’s Deep Fantasy post at The Brainy Gamer avoids this framing to focus on the depth of the narrative elements of the game and the creation of some positive female lead characters. In doing so he cites Simon Ferrari’s analysis from Chungking Espresso to argue that the paring back of the game systems is what allowed the narrative to shine through:  ”ease the complexity of the game’s formal systems and increase the complexity of the game’s storytelling”.

The Final Fantasy series is nothing if it is not a journey. The places you go on that journey are the story arcs and moments of character development whilst the landmarks are FMV cutscenes and orchestral scores but the vehicle is always the gameplay; the motive force bringing you to the next stop on your travels.

The vehicle of FFXIII was supplied to me in a very careful and deliberate way. As a result I felt confident in my understanding of the game systems and my ability to guide this vehicle along the journey, which I suspect was the designers intention. By fostering this high level of player comprehension the complexity of the storytelling is allowed to shine through, unimpeded by player frustration. Where I differ from Michael is that I cannot agree on the gravity and importance of certain scenarios and characters within the narrative. This is not because he was incorrect in the identification of places and landmarks along his journey but because we were driving different vehicles. The level of player understanding fostered by FFXIII meant that my party was configured to be the set of abilities and paradigms I needed to traverse the current series of combat puzzles. The journey of FFXIII for me did not elevate Lightning l suspect it did for Michael. This is because she did not occupy a central position in the gameplay the filter through which, as a player, I combine the narrative elements.

Personally my narrative experience of videogames is that of gameplay as a lens to interpret the elements more traditionally associated with storytelling. Whilst reflecting on what stood out in the narrative of Final Fantasy XIII I thought of the strength of Fang and to a lesser extent the personal stories of Hope and Lightning whilst Sazh and Snow barely register in my recollection beyond their early actions. I am unsure of the exact breakdown but I feel that the game is balanced in how the amount of development it provides for each member of the ensemble cast. The only difference I could find is that Fang was almost always the leader of my party with Lightning and Hope in tow. My personal vehicle on this particular Final Fantasy journey is what enabled a subjective narrative experience.

What is exciting is that even with such a wealth of content FFXIII was able to provide a cohesive narrative journey through places and landmarks across the different vehicles created by player choice. I am unsure about Final Fantasy XIII because I have found that the slow and methodical introduction of gameplay elements and characters, the first port of call when crying “a step backward”, is precisely what was needed to enable personalization of the narrative. To give me what I needed to play the game and enough of each character to feel a connection no matter who formed the parts of my vehicle. This was unexpected.

As many will already know Red Dead Redemption is an apple that does not fall far from the tree that is Rockstar Games’ open world formula. It’s single player portion does contain refinements that go a ways to addressing the above failing but regardless there is still ample ammunition for anyone who wishes to take that position. At the same time there is the multiplayer free roam portion of Red Dead Redemption. It comes tantalizingly close to fulfilling that dreamy promise of the ideal Rockstar multiplayer mode where anything might be possible. In free roam the whim of player and posse defines the next set of actions and stories are created from the conditions set up by Rockstar at the start. It is like some mad scientist version of Conway’s Game of Life…with horses. Through the lense of this maniacal creation I can build up a narrative where I will stop a hard driven pursuit to add to my collection of local flora or pause to share the sunset with a friend before blowing their head off just as they begin to describe what we were sharing. I am finding this method of narrative creation to be extremely satisfying and it has inevitably led me to compare it with the completely separate single player experience. And that is to be expected isn’t it?

I have always enjoyed that this medium has demarcation zones created by the player between our single and multiplayer experiences. With few exceptions games today provide us with easy ways to do this. The separation of Gerard as multiplayer cowboy from hell and Gerard as John Marston is as easy as paying attention to the two options provided when the title screen loads. It has even reached a point on the development side where games like Starcraft 2 and Medal of Honor utilise separate development teams for each experience. There are few brave enough to entertain the idea that one could merge the multiplayer ladder climb with the singleplayer narrative(?) of Modern Warfare 2. It is not worth that kind of effort and the reason is clear. These are parts of the same whole, the game that sits on your shelf, but we separate these experiences because they are simply not the same. Players are accustomed to having these dissociated story’s within a single game but I don’t think we go far enough.

Why must we join the John Marston of the open world of Red Dead Redemption with that of the John Marston of cutscenes and directed missions?

Are we compelled beyond our power to the tyranny of our avatar’s appearance or who inhabits the virtual space around us?

Do our stories really require a level of consistency that will place a limit to the interactivity we so greatly treasure?

Videogames provide us with a system to play with, not to be controlled by. The process of forming my own story through my play is mine to structure and control, and at times to edit. No boasting Halo player ever speaks of his defeats so I feel I have some small license to separate my stories. Red Dead Redemption continues the tradition of providing an expansive and atmospheric world for me to explore. I will make my own separate stories with the online free mode, with my random actions in singleplayer and with my connection to a strong character in John Marston. I am empowered in demarcating my time with a videogame because I am the player. If this is to be my escapism then I will craft many varied and interesting experiences and I look forward to any game that provides me with a Game of Life-and-then-some to do so.

I support the tyranny of player over game.

I have just finished my first game which I have named WorkSleepDream. It is a very simple game but I am happy with it. Along with some other development diary type stuff will contribute to the folio assessment for my first ever programming subject. The game was coded in the SwinGame API using Pascal. SwinGame has been developed over time within my university and Pascal has been the language of choice for my subject which is aimed at introducing the basics of procedural programming. Having never done any programming prior to 10 weeks ago I have really enjoyed the process of learning, designing and implementing this the code for WorkSleepDream.

Work Sleep Dream is set up to represent three states we exist in when we go about our day and how we can move between them. Nothing too fancy.

I would love to see any kind of feedback in the comments as I still have a few weeks before I have to submit my folio.

I hope you enjoy.

Download:

WorkSleepDream (compiled for Windows)

I associate that kind of puzzle/action only with a few games, like the original Alone in the Dark or Dragon’s Lair (or Flashback, but we’re not gonna talk about that).

In my eyes, Another World stands apart from those games in the creativity of its solutions. It has the speed of an action/adventure game, but the puzzling elegance of a static adventure game.

-crmbreault

One of the first yet minor things that I noticed was how the game used these long halls with (I guess it’s called) negative space either above or below the action to signal transition from one stage to the next. For some reason, I really like this design choice. It seems to bookend the action with these moments where atmosphere speaks on behalf of the game. This appeals to my sensibilities as a gamer.

-twentyeigth

Wow, the Arena perfectly mirrors the player and the protagonist’s emotional state and experience. I was just frantically mashing buttons, praying something would happen. That’s exactly what the protagonist was doing.

-nelsormensch

The ending made me rethink who the “protagonist” of the story was really supposed to be.  I had almost no empathy for the human character, other than wanting him to get further along in the story and survive to the end.  The game didn’t really present his actions as selfless; they were mostly a means to an uncertain end.  Even the moments where he “rescued” the alien are framed in a survival context, both intra-textually (“I must do this to have this guy as cover and direction”) and extra-textually (“I must do this because I can’t progress in the game unless I do”).  The alien, on the other hand, had more freedom and knowledge of the alien world, and could have probably escaped on his own, making his sudden appearances especially heroic.

It makes you wonder how necessary or enriching “moral choice,” or at least its current implementation, really is contemporary games.  Simply watching characters unfold through their actions, whether you directly choose them or not, seems poignant enough sometimes.

-Frohike

I think that is related to what I loved about the game on this replay; it gave us everything we needed and which we would plausibly have no more, no less.  We had no information regarding the aliens other than what we saw.  The only dialog was untranslated (because it was untranslatable) alien speech (in the 15th anniversary edition at least).

That fidelity to plausibility — within certain limitations — is what allowed the game to convincingly instill that sense of loneliness that Lester must feel and the utter sense of alienness the world must hold for him.  In turn, in that world, survival and companionship are the best one could realistically hope for.

-sqlasheen

All fragments are taken from the discussions surrounding the Vintage Game Club playthrough of  Another World.

To read more: The Vintage Game Club: Another World forum

To get involved: Another World on Good Old Games

To try a different path: Official site for Another World

Failure is an integral part of this experience. Perhaps too easily triggered, but worth it for the specific cutscene or in-game animations triggered. It reminds me of more standard adventure games in this way. Part of the enjoyment comes from poking at the boundaries that the designer laid out and seeing where you can hit a wall.

- shanehinton

As much as I like the visual presentation, though, it’s tough to stay interested when the game is so exceedingly frustrating. Right from the start it wasn’t clear when I was in control- the game starts you off sinking in a monster filled pool of water right after a pretty long cutscene (long enough to get comfortable with not being in control, anyway), and doesn’t give any indication that you’re actually supposed to step in at this point.

- mkapolka

But the economy of expression, the simplicity of the perfect streamlined stroke, the pictorial punch of a well-composed mise en scene – I mean just look at the opening scene of Another World punctuated by that Ferrari skidding to a stop and turning off its lights. Fabulous. The game is full of such carefully composed, yet utterly simple visual moments.

-brainygamer

Chahi’s style seems to bear the rough edges of a painter’s brush, rather than the perfectly angular, carpentered, product of a renderer. So if it’s minimalistic – it’s the “economy of expression” (I love that phrase by the way) inherent to Chahi’s style that remains thoroughly painterly for me.

-artfulgamer

I think the difficulty, by requiring repeated attempts at each semi-self sufficient setpiece adds to the cinematic quality of the game, but in a somewhat backwards way; it makes me feel like I am making the movie while I am watching it. In a sense the player is an actor playing the role of a successful escapee.  Each failure (and there are plenty) is an imperfect attempt at that role, except instead of yelling cut, the director/game kills you.

-sqlasheen

While Another World, in contrast, has a more spare and lonely feel (I argued against the term ‘minimalist’ in another thread, but I agree with loneliness, in that you’re on a strange world with one companion that you can’t communicate directly with and fork paths quickly on); I was trying to figure out what to do to survive, but there wasn’t the same actively antagonistic feel making me resent the difficulty of the puzzles.

each segment is its own self-contained challenge, and the branching nature means that the separate segments fit together into a sort of puzzle box, adding an extra layer of richness instead of an extra layer of annoyance.

-davidcarlton

All fragments are taken from the discussions surrounding the Vintage Game Club playthrough of  Another World.

To read more: The Vintage Game Club: Another World forum

To get involved: Another World on Good Old Games

To try a different path: Official site for Another World

Playing as Faith I will save my sister.

Playing as Mario I will defeat Bowser.

Playing as Darsil, the stealthy Dunmer mage I will fulfill the prophecies and defeat Dagoth Ur to save all of Morrowind from his cult-like Sixth House.

Or maybe I won’t but that is because I have made my own quest, that will be fulfilled on the streets of Liberty City.

There are so many points when we play videogames that we know we will win. They exist to make us feel good, to get lost in a world like our childhood fantasies. To end in victory. If games are an extension of our imagination then they will carry that assumption of success unless deliberately exorcised by conscious thought. It is because of this that I feel the game industry as yet cannot bring itself to make a good piece of horror gaming. The escapism that so many gamers find is equivalent to the catharsis provided by classic moments of horror cinema where the audience might just scream out loud. We have no need to be cast adrift like the audience after Psycho’s shower scene no matter how many times Infinity Ward designed AI kills your floating gun portal to it’s world. We will be back in that world, connected and fighting on to eventual victory. There might be some twist, we might even die. But we will not lose.

Horror is about feeling out of control, accepting that the world might be a place where you cannot win and where you might not be able to escape. By referencing the many audio and visual artifacts of the cinematic traditions games can create unnerving moment after unnerving moment, repeated over and over. But this ends with your escape, alive and successful, no less empowered than the triumphant return of Abe to Rapture Farms to liberate his fellow Mudokan. We need to source another segment of our conscious experience in order to create true pieces of horror gaming. If games come from our imagination where we are in control then maybe we need to search our experience for something altogether different. Maybe we need to remember our nightmares and what it means to have one. Those moments of our dreams we are out of control and yet still on an amazing journey.

If someone every told me that they play Torchlight for the authored narrative I would probably end the conversation. However I will immediately follow up that statement by saying that narrative is what has kept me going back to the game over and over again. This narrative I speak of does not involve chasing down Alric or the fate of the town of Torchlight, it is about the adventurer alchemist known as Ytill. If Runic Games diverted resources away from building a compelling narrative for their dungeon crawler it most definitely went towards the loot system and as a result it creates a means by which I as the player can create a story for Ytill much in the way I create my own story, through the items that he obtains, uses and keeps.

The story of Ytill for ten levels was linked to the weapon pictured above, an unassuming sword that outclassed any other I would find for hours to come. My growth as a character was linked to this item as my slightly melee focused Alchemist became a hand to hand combat machine because of this sword. This item, real in the gameworld, held not only the gaming moments of victory over hordes of “evilplacespawn” but also the ways that Ytill grew and changed and how I internalised the rules and systems of Torchlight. In the same way that Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is not just a simple book, this sword was not just an awesome weapon. Many a time I would find new weapons, half hoping to find something better but secretly wishing for the opposite. So much of my narrative thus far was contained in this sword and thus when I found the Dismantling Sparkling Staff of the Bear with it’s higher damage per second, it was a moment of sadness. It was time to move on.

Much in the way my room tells a story of who I am, the items that Ytill uses and wears define my narrative in Torchlight. They are touchstones, memory markers and a means by which we as players can construct narratives through games like Torchlight, Borderlands and obviously Diablo. It is an active process different from other cultural forms. But this is not the end of the story of the sword, it now sits in the ingenious communal storage chest in the town of Torchlight, accessible to any character I chose to create. It waits for the time when Shaggy the level 2 Destroyer is ready, the time when I can once again be reminded of what my narrative in Torchlight, and what the future might hold.

The iPhone game space has been something of a revelation for me in 2009. It represents a healthy sized market for developers and a new economic model to be solved. The relatively lower risks also means that it is a great space to fearlessly explore new and interesting gameplay concepts and unlike games on other platforms there seems to be no collective consciousness surrounding it. There are no iPhone ‘classics’ to tell me what to expect.

When I load up a disc on my Xbox 360 I will know very quickly if a game meets the standards I hold for my home console experience. When I load a new App to play on my iPhone I do not know what to expect. This completely changes how I judge the games I play. I have enjoyed Spider because it was a perfect harmony of controls, visuals and storytelling quite literally in the palm of my hand. I have enjoyed Canabalt, Drop 7 and geoSpark for the simple mechanics that are infinitely replayable and supportive of a habit of listening to videogame podcasts. I have enjoyed re-releases like Passage, Beneath a Steel Sky and Dragon’s Lair because they show that good games are evergreen.

When I first purchased my Xbox 360 all I expected was games at a level above my Playstation 2 experience, an incremental improvement. In the iPhone’s case all I knew was I would be gaming much more. I could not compare the experience to anything else previous because almost everything about it feels so completely new. It is by no means the only portable gaming platform but it is the first in a long time that does not have the burden of expectation. I am not saying that it is the new holy grail of videogames either but I am glad that this new space has opened up. I am now more than ever, a gamer everywhere and I love the idea that my next treasured gaming memory might only be one less cup of coffee away.

Seasons greetings

All the items I gain in the game are linked back to this villa, on display to remind me of their existence whenever I return. My ever growing art collection is punctuated by largely empty rooms, set aside for weapons and armor. This reminds me of how I have chosen to progress in the game. The game has three collectibles items, feathers, codex pages and seals of your ancestor Assassin’s. It is not enough to simply retrieve them, they must be returned to the villa in order to contribute to that magical counter. I am reminded of the narrative justification for collecting feathers by the perpetually catatonic form of Ezio’s mother as  I deposit them in her room. I am reminded of the importance of finding all the Codex pages, a feeling reinforced when I place them amongst those already gained and as the Assassin’s seals unlock the gate to the ultimate final reward I feel motivated to explore just one more tomb.

The Villa at Monteriggioni at it’s most simple is a virtual trophy room, one which continually reinforces a holistic recollection of my gaming experience. When I equip my Condottiero War Hammer and Iron chestguard I cannot help but remember the common sword and leather armor that served me well during my early days in Florence. My anticipation of gameplay to come is increased by the memory of gameplay now past. Beyond a trophy room it is a benign region of Ezio’s world that provides for moments of practice and experimentation. With each new building upgraded, I gain access to the treasure chests that taunt me through their presence on my map. I practice many a jumping puzzle before needing those skills for the real challenges that I face in the greater world. I refine my combat reflexes without consequence or fear. The need to return to the Villa  to collect income means that whilst you might not need the safety net that it offers you are most definitely aware of it.

The open world genre can simultaneously intimidate and excite by the wealth of options for play that they offer. The inclusion of an area like the Monteriggioni Villa takes away much of the anxiety of being let loose in such a world that does not force you to participate in the authored narrative. It provides a virtual home, a safe place to exist in the world as well as an anchor for your memories of the game. This is a vital element that is missing in many open world games that often provide rich emergent experience but provide no means to hold onto them, leaving them to fade away with the next cool brush fire, assassination or car crash. When my time with Ezio is finished the Monteriggioni Villa and town are restored and alive with colour and movement. My trophy room has expanded out and every step through this place is a reminder of the things I have done and the fun I have had along the way.