The Brainy Gamer

The signature touch

In Hollywood's golden age, movie studios were run by moguls who left their marks on the films they produced. Studio films bore identifiable signatures, and moviegoers in the '30s understood that a picture released by Paramount was unlikely to resemble a picture released by Universal. As depression-era documents of American culture, Warner Bros. gritty, cynical depictions of life on the streets occurred worlds away from MGM's lavish escapist fare. Jack Warner had Stanwyck and Cagney; Louis B. Mayer had Garbo and Gable.

I've found myself reflecting, surprisingly, on the Hollywood studio era as I've played a couple of sleek new games this week: Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor and Knights in the Nightmare, both released by Atlus, a developer and publisher I've grown to admire in recent years for its commitment to producing smart polished JRPGs that extend and blur the margins of the genre while holding steadfast to its core elements.

Atlus is the Republic Pictures of the game industry: a small player specializing in quality genre fare on a modest budget. If you've played an Atlus game, chances are you've come to recognize the Atlus signature: tough, stylish, anime-inspired RPGs with slick presentations, clever interfaces, and careful attention to detail.

Games like the Persona series, Etrian Odyssey and its sequel, and the two games I'm currently playing convey a kind of charming anachronism: simultaneously old-school (often brutally so) and edgy new. Even a fatally flawed game like Baroque (developed by frequent Atlus partner Sting) bears the familiar Atlus signature: a rougelike refitted in slick real-time 3D visuals with a fabulous musical score.

Happily, Atlus isn't alone. While the industry landscape continues to change, certain game studios still communicate definably unique identities to their audiences. A Blizzard game is different from a Bioware game is different from a Bethesda game, even though all three specialize in computer/console RPGs. Studios like Grasshopper Manufacture and Q-Games evoke their own specific sets of images and ideas; while others who once had that power (Treasure and Rare, for example) seem in recent years to have lost it.

All this has me wondering how a game studio conveys and sustains an identity. How is it that we recognize its signature? No Hollywood studio today, with the possible exception of Pixar, can claim the kind of brand awareness that developers like Rockstar and Kojima Productions enjoy.

Is it a sense of vision? A recognizable style? A design aesthetic? What makes us loyal to certain developers in the way our grandparents and great-grandparents were loyal to Chrysler and Frigidaire? Will consolidation ultimately take game developers down the same road as the Hollywood studios, and if so should we care? Will the name "Atlus" even mean anything in 10 years? Will Rockstar? What does "Activision" mean today?

Okay. That's a lot of questions. Maybe I'd better stop there and invite you to jump in with some answers, if you've got them. I'm not finished with Atlus, however. I'll be back with a post about why I think you should play Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor, even if it is a godawful title for a video game.

Teach me to play

  

Games must be extraordinarily effective teachers. The learning window opens briefly. If the player cannot quickly grasp what the game expects or enables him to do, that window slams shut and it's game over. To a classroom teacher, that's an unreasonable condition. But to a game designer, it's just another day in the cubicle. If you fail to quickly reach that impatient player (age 8-80 in all possible demographic configurations) the fabulous curriculum you spent 3 years of your life building will be rejected by your student...and you're the one that gets the "F".

Lately, I find myself paying special attention to the teaching strategies game designers employ, particularly among recent games I've played. Clearly, game designers reject a one-size-fits-all approach, and that's because they understand the importance of pedagogy. That word may not get much play among designers, but it's a term teachers bandy about a lot. Terminology aside, we both make vital use of it.

Pedagogy is the teaching method chosen for the task at hand: teaching tailored to the subject and situation. Pedagogy is all about strategy, implementation, and assessment - make-or-break procedures that good teachers and game designers understand instinctively. The kid in the back of the room who hates science is no different, really, from the mom who loads the disc of a game she's never played into a console. You've got about 15 minutes to grab them and convince them they can succeed. You'd better make the most of it.

How do games teach us to play them? I won't try to account for every method; instead, I'll offer snapshots of 5 recent games, each utilizing a different strategy. I'm not suggesting one approach is superior to another, as they're all case-specific. But I do think some tutorials are more elegant or naturally embedded than others, and I'll try to explain why below.

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Tiger Woods PGA Tour 10 - The Lecturer
Annually-released sports games assume you already understand the sport, so teaching focuses on controls and new features from last year's edition. The Tiger Woods franchise has improved its teaching over the years (gone is the mandatory "this is how you swing" tutorial), but the game still relies on a primitive lecture/practice/exam pedagogy. Golf game veterans will require no help, but for those who have never played console golf, the game offers a series of video tutorials demonstrating how to swing, chip, putt, etc. The player is expected to passively watch and learn from these tutorials, then take those lessons to the practice range, and finally to the course. Classic old-school sender-receiver lecture, followed by studying and practicing for the final exam. For a long-running franchise like Tiger Woods, this may be good enough, but it's hardly what I'd call imaginative or user-friendly. Recent editions of Madden Football have been far more clever and innovative in this regard.

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Punch-Out! - The Foreign Language Teacher
The new Punch-Out! (like its NES predecessor) teaches the player how to succeed without tutorials or how-to videos. Instead, you slowly and methodically proceed through a series of pattern-recognition challenges keyed by visual cues. When the pattern is deciphered, the puzzle is unlocked and victory assured. Each fight is its own unique ruleset. Thus, until he is understood, your opponent remains inscrutible, and try/fail/retry is your best teacher. In this way, Punch-Out! functions pedagogically like a language course. You begin with simple grammar and syntax and gradually move to tougher challenges, retaining what you've learned along the way. At its most difficult setting, Punch-Out! requires the precision and immediate responsiveness of a conversation with a native speaker. The rules you've learned are all there, but they're fluid, and you don't have time to stop and think about them.

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InFamous - The Handholding Mentor
InFamous relies on a teaching strategy found in many recent games: embedding a "how to play this game" tutorial into the opening stage. Using a variety of techniques - on-screen visual prompts, camera swings to target destinations, voice-over instruction via handheld device, camera freezes to introduce enemies, sidekick-assigned information delivery, etc. - InFamous leverages all its resources to walk the player through its learning phase, attempting all the while to cover its tracks. Some elements work better than others in this regard. Cole zapping batteries on the roof or chasing Zeke through a poorly disguised city travelogue are less successful than learning to climb the tower to release food, for example. InFamous wants you to learn without making you too aware you're a student. It's awkward and heavy-handed at times, but it sure beats a "this is how you zap" tutorial.

If you want to see "Handholding Mentor" done to perfection, play Portal.

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Zeno Clash - The Guru
I have more to say about this game, but for now I'll focus briefly on its teaching system. Like other first-person combat games (Zeno Clash is both brawler and shooter), the player is greeted by a sensai-like character charged with teaching you how to fight. These sequences are generally followed by tutorial battles in which each just-learned skill is put to the test. The guru is a tough taskmaster, insisting on judgment, precision, and timing. Mistakes are punished severely and the player sometimes berated for failure. Eventual success is deemed both a technical and spiritual victory. Much more can be said about Zeno Clash's unique take on The Guru, but to avoid spoilers I'll leave it at that.

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Blueberry Garden - The Open Classroom
Blueberry Garden erases the boundaries separating play and teaching, discovery and learning. They all meld into one self-directed experience. The game offers no tutorial, no instructions, and no apparent objective. The purpose of the game and the mechanics enabling it must be discovered by the player. You must become your own teacher. While all this may seem a charming departure, do not mistake Blueberry Garden for an open-ended "zen game" because it isn't at all. It may cleverly deceive you into thinking otherwise, but trust me, the peaceful Open Classroom this garden represents has its own unique way of motivating its student. I'll return to Blueberry Garden in another post, but for now I'll simply urge you to hit Steam and plop down your $4.99 for this terrific indie game.

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As I said, my list focuses on recent games I've played and is by no means comprehensive. I'm sure you've seen other teaching strategies used in many other games. If so, I'd love to hear about them.

Thank you sir, may I have another?

It's E3 time and my blogger and journo pals are livetweeting, liveblogging, and MST3K'ing their ways through today's slate of press conferences by Microsoft, EA, and (as I write this) Ubisoft. G4TV is broadcasting commercial-free, world premiere trailers are popping up everywhere, Paul and Ringo are making cameos. E3 is back with a vengeance. For gamers, it's Christmas in June.

Why, then, am I disappointed?

So far, this year's E3, especially the Microsoft event, feels like a retrenchment. A high-octane concession to the limitations of the medium. Heather Chaplin's recent GDC rant directed at developers rings in my ears. "You aren’t men. You are stunted adolescents."

Chaplin's remarks went too far because she demeaned her listeners and failed to acknowledge notable exceptions. But having watched nearly all the trailers for this year's E3-announced high-profile games, I think the gist of her argument is sound. It's pretty much one male power fantasy game after another (featuring, by the way, powerful white guys presented on stage by loquacious white guys to an audience of mostly white guys.) Awe-inspiring technology aside, it's hard to see where the progress is.

Please don't misunderstand me. E3 piques my interest in games, big time. I'm excited to play Splinter Cell: Conviction and Brutal Legend, just as I'm thrilled to be playing inFAMOUS at the moment. My beef isn't with shooters or violent games, and I'm not wringing my hands about the future of our kids.

What I'm concerned about, and this year's E3 only confirms it, is that we've apparently decided the only way to tell a story in a video game is to send a male hero (lately he's a dark conflicted hero) off to wreak retribution or deliver some kind of unholy justice with a requisite set of thrilling gun/sword/combat mechanics in tow.

Here's an incomplete roundup of titles (30 of them) announced or shown at E3, all of which adhere in their own ways to the formula:

Modern Warfare 2, Shadow Complex, Crackdown 2, Left 4 Dead 2, Splinter Cell: Conviction, Halo 3 ODST, Halo: Reach, Alan Wake, Metal Gear Solid: Rising, APB, Untitled MMA game, Wolfenstein, Batman: Arkham Asylum Play As The Joker

Just Cause 2, Crysis 2, Alpha Protocol, Mafia 2, The Sabateur, Dead Space Extraction, Bayonetta (Ah! A woman!), Ghost Recon 4, I Am Alive, Assassin's Creed 2, Red Steel 2, Brutal Legend, Avatar, Operation Flashpoint: Dragon Rising, No More Heroes 2

If you're a fan of storytelling in games, this year's E3 offers lots more of what you've already seen....but bigger and louder with more acrobatics, free-falls, and lens flares. We often talk about games exploring new narrative/gameplay territory and developing a language distinct from the cinema. But so far, this year's E3 suggests we're going nowhere near those objectives.

In fact, insofar as storytelling is concerned, it appears the industry has chosen to dig in, focusing on even more explosive shooters and solidifying its ties with filmmaking. Ubisoft, in particular, intends to permanently blur the lines between games and films, and they've got James Cameron, Steven Spielberg, and Peter Jackson on board to help them do it.

It's not my nature to be cynical, but the overwhelming preponderance of histrionic combat-oriented games, nearly all delivered in spectacular cinematic style, sends a clear message to gamers everwhere. 'We're bringing you bigger, edgier, and more visually arresting versions of the games we brought you last year, and the year before that. Sure, we've got casual games too, and a new slate of appalling games for girls; but we know you know where the action is.' To which gamers are apparently eager to reply "Thank you sir, may I have another?"

Evergreen games

Playing older games can be a joyful experience. Revisiting an old favorite evokes a certain nostalgia that feels less like re-reading a book and more like driving your first car through your old neighborhood. Some things appear just as you remember them; other things seem oddly small or ordinary. Sometimes the car doesn't handle like you remember it.

I've been thinking about why certain games age better than others. Playing Ultima IV with my students recently, the neighborhood felt like home, but the car was stiff and hard to drive and, after awhile, not much fun anymore. I confess I found it mildly heartbreaking. Revisiting Super Mario Bros. 3, on the other hand, makes me wonder why I bought the car I'm driving now.

Is it simply a matter of mechanics? In terms of playability, RPGs have improved greatly since Ultima IV, but I'd be hard pressed to name a platformer released in the 20 years since SMB3 that improves on its formula. Or is it more than mechanics? Aesthetically, Ultima IV is, let's face it, an ugly game to look at these days. When my students saw it for the first time, the looks on their faces told me all I needed to know. They struggled with the game, not simply because it was hard to play, but because they found it so visually primitive and unappealing. SMB3, as you might expect, required me to physically extract the controller from certain students' hands so they wouldn't be late to their next classes.

Comparing a 25-year-old RPG with a 20 year-old-platformer probably isn't fair. Apples and oranges. But I do think there's something to be said for the staying power of games that unify their elements in ways that continue to appeal. If I were to compare apples to apples in this case, it's worth noting that my students had a significantly more positive response to the early Dragon Quest games for the NES, which appeared at nearly the same time as Ultima IV.

I'm intentionally posing more questions here than I can answer because I'm eager for your thoughts on this issue. Why do certain games age better than others? Can you think of a game you once loved that seemed somehow diminished when you revisited it? If so, how do you account for that? Conversely, have you replayed a game recently that stands the test of time especially well? If so, why? What is it about that game that shields it from aging?

I hope that by sharing our experiences we'll identify some of the evergreen characteristics of games and better understand why some games seem to age better than others.

Update: Sinan Kubba reminds me that a recent episode of the Big Red Potion podcast deals with this very subject. Sinan produces a good show, and I encourage you to check it out.

Rogue architects

A fascinating situation is unfolding in the City of Heroes universe, and I'm glued to it like a rubbernecking reality show junkie. I don't play CoH anymore (I subscribed for a few months after its release in 2004), but I think what's happening there is worth our attention because it highlights the intricate relationship a game can forge between its creators and its players.

City of Heroes (and its companion City of Villains) is a superhero comic book MMORPG published by NCSoft. 14 major updates have appeared in the 5 years since its release, and the game continues to attract a loyal fanbase drawn to its deep character creation system, lore-heavy story arcs, and teamwork-based gameplay. Reliable data is hard to come by, but CoH has roughly 100-150 thousand subscribers in the US and Europe.

Last month, CoH introduced a major update featuring a new tool called Mission Architect, which allows players to create their own original adventures and share them with other players. According to NCSoft, Mission Architect makes CoH the first MMORPG to incorporate user-created content. A crucial aspect of this new system is its impact on character progression. User-generated story arcs bestow knowledge, experience, and rewards equivalent to those available in the regular game, so players can level up their characters by completing these user-created scenarios.

To a narrative nut like me, Mission Architect is exciting stuff. Within obvious game-world and game-engine limitations, Mission Architect enables players to create stories, dialogue, and original characters from scratch, as well as define mission objectives and test/iterate before publishing. Other players rate these adventures from 1-5, and devs scour user-created content and highlight the cream of the crop. Mission Architect's takeaway message is clear: Anyone can be a storyteller with an audience in City of Heroes.

Early reports on Mission Architect were enthusiastically positive. The Escapist called it "hugely impressive," and Wired's Game|Life described it as "intensely successful." NCSoft's GDC presentation on the new system was thorough, illustrating the developer's careful plan for implementing such an ambitious update to their game.

But when Mission Architect was released on April 8, things went bad quickly. Within hours, players had created hundreds of exploit missions delivering huge rewards for very little effort. Soon the rating system was undermined by the emergence of '5-star badge cartels': players banding together to assign '5' scores to the most exploitative content and lower scores to all others. Loud outcry from other players forced the devs to respond, and they acted quickly. The lead designer posted a message in the CoH forum titled "Abusing Mission Architect":

When we created Mission Architect, the goal was to have an outlet for players to craft cool stories, using our assets, that other players could play and participate in. Other players could rate those stories and the best-of-the best would rise to the top.

While we have accomplished some of those goals with the initial launch of Mission Architect, some have found ways to abuse the system we put in place. We are not blind to this happening, nor did we not expect it. However, it is time to take action regarding it, so please be aware that we are about to implement a zero-tolerance stance on the extreme abuse we are seeing in the system...

7,480 comments to this message were posted in two days. Vitriol and reason battled with no apparent winner before the thread was finally closed.

I find this situation intriguing and noteworthy for several reasons.

• The developers appear to have been blindsided. After five years of chasing down one exploit after another, it's hard to imagine how they could have missed this oncoming freight train, but they did. At GDC they indicated they would automatically scan for violations (inappropriate language or content) before allowing user-created content to reach the live servers, but they apparently had no system in place for catching content designed solely for power-leveling.


• Mission Architect is a reminder that players define "play" and "fun" in a variety of ways. When I first heard about the CoH update (courtesy of the Gamers With Jobs podcast) my initial reaction was "Great! I can tell stories!"; but plenty of other people clearly thought "Great! I can min-max the system!" While I'm sympathetic to the devs' desire to maintain a level playing field in their MMO, gaming the system and figuring out its loopholes is a game with a certain seductiveness all its own. Players are drawn to exploits like moths to flames.

• Games that employ story, characters, and lore are nearly always built on the framework of a rule-based system with rewards and win/lose conditions. Mission Architect is a story-building tool, but it cannot function separately from CoH's game elements. So while the devs may see it as a tool to encourage players to be creative with narrative, many players see it as a tool to be creative with the game's underlying system. One use of the tool may be approved over the other, but the tool requires both properties to be functional.
  
  We might also characterize both behaviors as essentially creative. Perhaps the difference is that one is constructive, while the other may be seen as destructive...and how games both proscribe and encourage 'destructive' behavior is probably another bullet point. Or another post.

Got more bullet points? Send them my way.

The sports game ghetto

Why don't we talk about sports games? Why do we assume they fall outside the domain of game criticism? Why have we relegated them to the game ghetto inhabited by the latest iterations of DDR, Yu-Gi-Oh! and Barbie? Why, at the most recent Game Developer's Conference, was there not a single session, panel, or roundtable devoted to a sports game? Are they really that dismissable?

It's not hard to find specialty sites like Operation Sports devoted to all things Madden, FIFA, and Tiger; and while such sites occasionally produce thoughtful essays, most of the content skews toward previews, sneak-peak screenshots, and reviews of the latest sports game releases. At Operation Sports, these reviews are generally comprehensive and well written, tailored to readers hungry for feature-list roundups, gameplay evaluation, and comparisons to prevous-year interations. If you want the lowdown on the latest Madden, it's a great place to visit, with a friendly and knowledgeable fanbase supporting it.

But the burgeoning community of game critics has mostly ignored sports games, and I think that's a big oversight. A game like MLB 09 The Show - which is one of the best games of any genre released this year - offers many useful lessons in gameplay and user interface design, as well as brilliant integration of tactile mechanics, responsive player controls, and variable on-screen outcomes. Designers who want to understand how a game can grab a player, invest him in its systems, provide deep customization and near-infinite replayability with faithful but unpredictable results - such a designer would do well to study a game like MLB 09 The Show.

I think we operate on a set of flawed assumptions about sports games:

• They iterate on the same game year after year, merely updating rosters and tweaking graphics.
• They require less imaginative design than other genres because they simulate sports that never change. In terms of gameplay, it's 3 strikes and you're out this year, last year, and next year.
• Sports gamers are less discerning than "hardcore gamers," and they mindlessly consume whatever mediocre Madden EA annually doles out. Consequently, sports games don't need to be good to sell.
• Sports games are glorified stat-based sims with mo-capped player animations. They aren't really video games like Call of Duty, Super Mario, or Half-Life are video games.

One hour (or better yet, a week or month) spent playing MLB 09 dispels such assumptions, but more on that in my next post.

I suspect we've assigned 2nd-class status to sports games because too often over the years they have deserved that designation. Too many Maddens with too little to offer, too many basketball games with broken controls have poisoned the water for sports games, and paying $60 for a game that's inferior to its $50 precessesor is infuriating.

I'm also guessing we ignore sports games because relatively few of us critic-types play them; and those of us who do, rarely write about them, despite their incredible popularity. It's worth noting that FIFA 09 has sold 9 million copies worldwide. That's more than Fallout 3, Far Cry 2, and Fable II combined.

It's also worth noting that FIFA 09 is an exceptionally fine game. But in my circle of writers, sports games are rarely mentioned, and I can't think of a single critical analysis of a sports game that any of us have written, re-tweeted, cross-linked, or otherwise called to anyone's attention. Aside from a standard review, is there nothing to say about how and why FIFA or MLB 09 function so effectively as games? Or have we simply decided that we don't do sports games?

In my next post I'll take a stab at offering a critical perspective on MLB 09 as a video game that pushes the medium in some interesting and useful ways. As a sports game nut, I look forward to the challenge, aware that I'm working outside my normal element. As always, your comments and feedback are most welcome.

Game trumps story

At a press event in London yesterday, Bethesda's Pete Hines announced the latest expansion to Fallout 3: "Broken Steel." This third DLC pack is sure to please fans of the game - Xbox 360 fans, that is; none of the expansions are available for the PS3. I've yet to complete either of the previous packs, but I'm sure I'll be drawn into the Bethesda DLC vortex yet again when Broken Steel arrives. What can I say, Bethesda? You had me at Horse Armor.

One remark Hines made at the press event caught my attention, and it amplifies something I heard him say at GDC a few weeks ago. In response to protests from fans, Broken Steel removes Fallout 3's ending. Once installed, the expansion essentially re-writes the game's final chapter to enable the player to continue playing indefinitely. If you like, you can even send a companion to complete the game's final task, instead of doing it yourself.[1]

"Broken steel doesn't have an ending," Hines said. "There are no more endings. We got the message."

The message Hines and Bethesda received loud and clear is that players don't want a narrative-driven conclusion to supercede their gameplay. As HInes noted at GDC, the team at Bethesda was committed to telling a story with a dramatic arc and a resonant ending (the game actually contains 3 possible conclusions to the main quest). But a persistent and vociferous outcry from players persuaded them to change their minds. Hines hinted the then-unannounced expansion was meant to accomplish two things: add content to the game, and respond to players demanding the removal of the ending. He called it a "lesson learned" and suggested it's unlikely Bethesda will make that mistake again.

I'm not bent out of shape about this decision because I've had my shot at Fallout 3 as it was originally conceived, and I enjoyed it. I admire Bethesda for drawing their RPG to a meaningful conclusion, especially considering how much easier it would have been to set a level cap, scatter end-game items/loot/creatures throughout the world, and let players wander around finding them.

I understand why fans wish to continue playing the game, and I can't fault Bethesda for enabling them to do so. But it does serve as yet another reminder that storytelling in narrative games takes a backseat to gameplay nearly every time. Fallout 3 exists in the minds of most players as a game with a story; not a story you can play. Bethesda may have originally thought otherwise, but as Hines says, they got the message.

I get it too. But it makes me a little sad.

Pint-sized champ

Apparently 13 can be a lucky number. Grand Theft Auto: Chinatown Wars, the thirteenth installment in a series that's approaching 100 million copies sold, returns the franchise to its core design philosophy: plunging the player into an amped-up world of depravity, mayhem and speed and wringing as much giddy gameplay out of it as possible. This is a GTA I will play through to the end, which is something I haven't done since Vice City.

GTA: Chinatown Wars exemplifies the worn-out adage that less is more, but not in the way you might expect. The game crams more content into its tiny DS cartridge than seems possible. In terms of gameplay, it nearly matches its big brother GTA IV feature for feature, and the geographic scope of the game's Liberty City is vast and surprisingly detailed.

It may be a handheld version of GTA - and it feels very strange (and oddly exhilarating) dealing drugs on my family-friendly DS with the Zelda stickers on it - but this is a full-throttled, no-holds-barred Rockstar GTA game.

GTA:CW got small in exactly the way it needed to. It delivers a limited and perfectly preposterous story, with suitably ludicrous characters, that provide a simple framework for progressing through the game. The cutscenes, such as they are, arrive in the form of comic-book still-frame interactions punctuated by the droll self-mockery that Rockstar's writers do better than anyone. GTA:CW is all about the game. Its clever but simple story exists to accentuate and contextualize the action. Margaret Robertson would be very happy.

Robertson, as you may know if you caught my recent post-GDC podcast, delivered a talk in San Francisco called "Stop Wasting My Time and Your Money: Why Your Game Doesn't Need a Story to Be a Hit." In it, she pointed out that not all games require thick narratives, and sometimes such narratives do little more than hinder developers and players. When you realistically consider the development requirements for such games, you wind up facing a workflow that looks something like this: DEVISE, STORYBOARD, SCRIPT, CAST, VOICE RECORD, MOCAP, BUILD, ANIMATE, IMPLEMENT, TRANSLATE, RECAST, RERECORD, REIMPLEMENT. [1]

Would GTA:CW have benefited from such an approach? No way.

I'm a regular advocate for ambitious storytelling in games, but not every title requires them...not even games like GTA:CW that feature lots of characters. Robertson gets it right, I think, when she suggests that players prioritize their needs when they play games. They want to know (in descending order of importance):

• Where I am
• What I can do
• What I look like
• Who I am
  

I'm not sure I agree that "Who I am" always falls last on the list, but perhaps I need to think about the question more carefully. A game like GTA:CW certainly seems to work this way; but, interestingly, GTA IV attempted to emphasize "Who I am" at various times in its narrative, and this is precisely where the game ran into trouble.

Was Niko Bellic a problematic character because the game tried unsuccessfully to reposition "Who I am" at the top of its list? Perhaps the game was built according to Robertson's list of player priorities - just as Rockstar has designed every game in the GTA series - and no amount of contemplating Niko's nature or backstory could overcome this overarching structure.

I don't know. But one thing seems clear to me. GTA: Chinatown Wars succeeds on its diminutive hardware more completely than its older next-gen brother, and that's an accomplishment worth noting..and contemplating.

Voice for change

As I wrote in my previous post, voice acting lags behind other aspects of game development for a variety of reasons - derivative stories, poorly conceived and stereotyped characters, insipid dialogue, etc. - but none of these issues weighs as heavily on an actor as the restrictive and creatively limiting process most developers use to record dialogue for their games.

Good actors can often overcome, or at least ameliorate, bad writing with clever characterizations and collaborative interplay. But they are powerless to function as creative artists under the conditions they often face voicing characters for games. I spoke to one voice actor who put it this way:

It's not about being creative. There's no time for that. It's about recording cues. We call ourselves actors, but we're really technicians. There's very little space for spontaneity or imagination in that room. The people I've worked with have been very nice for the most part, but if they could replace me with a robot that can emote in ten different dialects, they would do it in a second.

Another discouraging picture of the game industry's approach to working with actors came at a GDC session I attended last month conducted by a production company that specializes in recording voices for games. The stated purpose of this panel presentation was "to increase creative communication between game producers and the creative talent in the studio in order to generate better storytelling, improve quality of performances in games, and develop a more efficient process." Not a bad idea, I thought.

In the hour than ensued I listened to a professional voice director explain to his audience how actors work. A few samples:

• "Actors live in the world of feelings and emotions."
• "When you're talking about an actor, you're talking about 'I want to get this feeling out of this actor.'"
• "Voice actors use their voices to project the emotional tenor of a character to the audience."
• The actors tools are:
  • Breathing
  • Placement Pitch (higher for younger, lower for older characters)
  • Music (the way an actor says a line is like singing)
  • Pace
• "If it doesn't have emotion attached to it, it's just boring information."
• "Actors are creatures of feelings and emotions."

Is it any wonder that a chasm exists between the people who create the characters and the people who must bring them to life?

Actors have brains. We analyze texts; we sift through psychological traits; we look for connections; we build meaning by tracing the arc of a character's journey. Good actors don't convey characters by delivering their lines angry/sad, fast/slow, or high/low. Certainly, emotions are useful, but they're merely adverbs. They color the far more important verbs: actions, discoveries, decisions, strategies...the meat and potatoes of acting.

Voice actors in games can't find their meat and potatoes because they are routinely denied the basic information they need to do their jobs well. Lacking this, they rely on instructions issued into their headphones: "Say it louder and angrier, and throw in an evil laugh at the end." They deliver the goods, and the result is an amateur performance with a professional sheen.

I recently interviewed another actor about the process of recording voices for games. He has worked in the industry for nearly ten years.

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Q: How much time do you generally have with a script before recording?

A: You mean in advance of a session?

Q: Right.

A: Typically, none. When you arrive for the session you're handed a side [a script with one character's lines and lead-in cues]. You have some time to look it over, and the Voice Director and maybe a producer are there to discuss it with you. But basically, you get the script, you set some levels, and off you go.

Q: So you don't know the story or anything?

A: They'll explain the basic gist of it, but mostly you're concentrating on short snippets of dialogue. I like to know as much as I can, obviously, but you have to remember the clock is ticking, and every minute you're not recording costs money. And, no surprise, they like actors who work efficiently. If you're cooperative and you've got some flexibility, and if they get the sense that you're a first-take / best-take kind of guy, you're going to work with them again.

Q: How do you create a character with so little information?

A: You throw out all your training for one thing. (Laughs) If they know your work they might say they're looking for something similar to what you did on another gig, but maybe a little gruffer or more aggressive or whatever. It's very simple stuff. Inflections and modulation mostly. I'm not sure I would call it characterization.

Q: Do you enjoy it?

A: That's a tough question. It's good money and it's a friendly environment to work in. Sometimes if they don't know what they want, it can get a little tense because they don't know how to explain what they want. So you tend to stick to a small range of big blocky emotions. Sometimes you get references to movies or other games because that's what they know...

Do I enjoy it as an actor? I have to say no. It's incredibly stifling because you're giving them about a tenth of what you're capable of, and you feel like you're digging into your same old bag of tricks over and over. But as I said, the money's good. Not great, but good.

Q: What would they do with the other 90% if you offered it to them?

A: (Laughs) I don't know what to do with it myself! The problem is you have nothing to work with. I mean, there's no actual script! You're usually working solo with sheets of disconnected cues. And you have no time. Occasionally you'll be sent a script ahead of a session, but not very often. I know one actor who gets early builds of the games he works on. That would be nice. (Laughs)

Q: Can you see video games ever challenging you to be creative as an actor?

A: Sure. Games are growing up, but it's happening slower than I thought it would...I can pull a character together for a video game in five seconds. It's a nice skill to have, but it would be great if, at some point, that wasn't good enough.

---

I realize production methods can't be separated from production costs, but it seems to me a few simple changes in the ways game studios work with actors might dramatically improve the quality of games without dramatically increasing budgets. Here are a few ideas to consider:

1. Bring competent actors into the development process early. Let them help you evolve the script and the characters. You will learn more about what works and what doesn't in your script this way than any other. When you finally record, your actors will have built characters they know well, and you will have a script with far more polished final dialogue.


2. Whenever possible let your actors collaborate and rehearse. Avoid isolating them for recording sessions. Actors work best with other actors and they feed off each other's energy and ideas. Take advantage of this.


3. Let the actors who will voice your game also play your game. An actor who has spent time in the world you've created will better understand how to deliver a character who belongs there.


4. Hire voice directors who genuinely understand the acting process and enjoy collaborating with creative artists. Empower this person to impact the depictions of the characters in your game. Some room must be left open to spontaneity and discovery.


5. Animators, character designers, and actors should talk to each other. They're all focused on the same task.


6. Work toward a production model that integrates scripting, development, and recording. Isolating these elements from each other in a traditional workflow arrangement may achieve a degree of efficiency, but is the resulting loss of collaborative creativity worth it?

Some studios are already moving in the right direction. Starbreeze has experimented with "V.O-Cap" technology" for their new Chronicles of Riddick game; Naughty Dog is committed to integrating actors, animators, and voice recording for its next Uncharted game; and other developers like Bioware are trying hard to create nuanced characters that require more from actors than standard inflections.

And then there's Valve. If you're curious to know why Merle Dandrige's performance as Alyx Vance in Half-Life 2 is so distinctive and spot-on, I highly recommend you listen to her commentary track on the game...or simply click on the link below. I'm trying to suggest here that performances like this are no accident. As Dandrige affirms in her commentary, they are made possible by a shared vision and a collaborative synergy between developer and actor rarely found in games.

Voicing concern

Voice acting in games is abysmal. It's amateur hour. It's embarrassing. It's the blind leading the blind. And nobody seems to care. With notable exceptions like Uncharted, Mass Effect and Fable II (and these are uneven at best), what goes for "acting" in video games rarely surpasses the level of competence one finds in a high school musical.

The sad reality is that voice acting in games is bad by design. It's easy to blame threadbare plots and endless iterations of bad-ass heroes; but those aren't the real problem, believe it or not. The problem is the industry's systematic practice of relegating actors and their performances to the lowest priority in the design cycle. Sensible improvements could be made if developers cared to implement them, but it's apparently easier to hang actors out to dry, pay them, and move onto the next project.

I don't make a habit of ranting in this space, but lousy acting makes my blood boil, especially when it arises out of willful neglect or ineptitude on the part of producers. While it's unreasonable to expect games to showcase actors like films or theater (I think games force us to rethink our concept of "actor"), it is entirely reasonable to expect professionals in a profitable industry to deliver work that demonstrates skill and proficiency in all areas of design. We demand high quality character models and animations, but we tolerate poorly conceived, stitched-together performances to accompany them.

When I say "acting" I don't limit that term to a certain style, medium or venue. A well trained actor must respond to a wide array of texts or situations and adapt her approach accordingly. So if it's Shakespeare, children's theater, soap opera, or a toothpaste commercial, a good actor will do whatever it takes to deliver a solid performance. It may sound crazy, but an actor's devotion to playing the Oscar Meyer Weiner isn't terribly different from his devotion to playing Hamlet. Two radically different styles, but each requires 100% commitment. Anything less in either role - even the smallest bit of self-consciousness - and you're left with awkward floundering.

I mention all this because I'm not coming to the voice acting problem as the fussy "theatuh" director looking down his nose at all these silly video games with their insipid dialogue and cardboard characters. Quite the contrary, in fact. We know most video game stories are weak. We know most of the characters are flimsy stereotypes. We wish they weren't, but that's the hand we're dealt for now.

Here's the thing. Good actors know how to manage such characters. We do it all the time. Watch an episode of Days of Our Lives, and you will see an ensemble of seasoned actors making the absolute most out of an awful situation. We're actors. That's what we do. We make characters with the material we're given. We invent details and create nuances where none exist in the script. We're ready to breathe life into your games, if you would only let us.

I regularly defer to the expertise of designers, programmers, and others who know far more about building games than I do. But I can't help feeling this one is in my wheelhouse. Training and enabling actors to create believable characters is what I do. I don't know if "the consumer" cares about how characters are portrayed in games (I think he does), but I care because I have no choice. It's the painting hanging crooked on the wall. I can't help myself.

So I've been trying for the last few weeks to learn why voice acting in games is so consistently disappointing. I attended two sessions focused on the subject at GDC, and I've spoken recently to two actors who have worked on big games we all know. I think I understand why the problem exists and why it persists. I'll return tomorrow with a diagnosis of sorts (an account of how voice acting in games is typically produced), and I'll offer suggestions for ways we might improve games by empowering actors to do the jobs they're prepared and eager to do. Rant end. For now.

Mashup genius

 

Retro Game Challenge has shovelware written all over it. Another quick and dirty compilation of old school classics repackaged in a nondescript box with bad cover art. What's worse, its 8-bit collection of retro games are all knock-offs: the Space Invaders/Galaga clone is called Cosmic Gate; Star Soldier is called Star Prince, etc. You could hardly be blamed for assuming Retro Game Challenge is yet another cheap, derivative attempt to cash in on NES-era nostalgia. If you saw this game on a shelf you'd walk right by it.

And that would be a very big mistake.

Retro Game Challenge is a wonderful mashup of games cleverly tied together by a sublimely wacky story in which you are transported back in time to the 1980s and forced to play video games by the vengeful Game Master Arino. You are transformed to a child, and your gaming companion is a friendly youthful version of Arino, unaware of the evil transformation that awaits him. Your only way back to the present is to overcome challenges Arino throws at you from an array of retro games, including 2D shooter, sidescroller, racing, and even a surprisingly deep RPG.

It's easy to see how a collection of retro-inspired games framed by a properly nutty Japanese gameshow theme could make for a pleasant, off-center diversion. Throw in some gameplay challenges, a maniacal host, a few nods to game genres we remember fondly, and voila: a fun little handheld diversion.

But Retro Game Challenge transcends such a self-limiting design by aspiring to more than a simple old school mashup. It does several very important things very well. Among the lessons RGC delivers:

1. Homage and parody don't exempt you from quality. True, RGC is full of games that ape the conventions of classic NES titles, but they also happen to be terrific games in their own rights. Cosmic Gate, Robot Ninja Haggle Man (Mario Bros./Bubble Bobble clone), and Star Prince are complete, multi-level games that control smoothly on the DS. When you overcome Arino's challenges, each of these games is unlocked for freeplay, and they are, in my humble opinion, every bit as good as their originals. I would even argue they play better than their overpriced official Nintendo re-release DS versions.


2. Embrace your meta-self. One of the charms of RGC is its wry awareness of itself as a game.  Developer XSEED cleverly weaves ironic bits of commentary from Arino that suggest he knows you know you're playing his game of old games. The devilish glee he derives from throwing these challenges at you makes each one feel personal and delightfully ridiculous.


3. Make the experience feel at once familiar and brand new. If you played any of these games in their original forms, RGC will offer little that seems new (though Guadia Quest riffs on Dragon Quest in some wondeful ways that are fun to discover). But the game delivers its challenges in a fashion that chops each homage into a variety of games within games that make you experience them in ways that feel fresh.


4. Love the player and the culture. RGC is a gift to gamers. It includes a wonderful, well-written fake magazine called Game Fan that contains articles about the games, rankings, cheats, and even game advice from fake journalists, one of which is clearly modeled after Dan Hsu, former editor of EGM. All of this is delivered in loving detail, with fonts, graphics, and layouts reminiscent of the magazines many of us eagerly pored over back in the day.


5. Don't take yourself too seriously...except when it comes to delivering an extraordinarily well-conceived, smooth playing, and refined game that cleverly hides all those tracks beneath a cheap, jaggy 8-bit veneer.

If you haven't yet played Retro Game Challenge, I strongly encourage you to give it a try. It's a terrific compilation of games that fairly represent the defining decade of the medium. Playing the included Robot Ninja Haggle Man series alone (1-3) conveys a remarkably accurate view of 80s game development from the earliest NES games to their more refined successors that appeared near the end of the 8-bit era. That alone makes the game worth playing.

Happily, its designers aspired to more than a history lesson or dusty rehash. Retro Game Challenge is a brand new experience all its own. Game Master Arino awaits you.

iPhone call for help

I had a nutty idea a couple of weeks ago. I thought it would be fun to devote part of my vacation to "catching up" on the iPhone gaming scene. I play lots of games, but I've pretty much ignored iPhone titles, partly due to time constraints - heck, I can't even keep up with all the console and PC games I want to play - but mainly because the first bunch of games I tried (Enigmo, Crash Bandicoot Nitro Kart, Trism, Monkey Ball) simply didn't hold my interest.

My initial "Wow, I can play games on this thing?!" soon gave way to "Wow, why would anyone want to play games on this thing?"

To be sure, the first wave of games on any new system tends to be dominated by franchise ports, less than stellar launch window releases, and proof-of-concept titles. The iPhone has seen more than its share of such games, and by "more than its share" I'm saying the percentage of truly awful iPhone games is extraordinarily high relative to other systems.

I should note this observation is based on an unscientific sampling of 50 or so iPhone games played (some for only a few minutes) over the course of the last two weeks. It's entirely possible I simply picked the wrong batch of games. The problem is that it's very difficult to separate the wheat from the chaff...and, as I've discovered, the iTunes App Store's definition of wheat (based on sales and user reviews) is usually my idea of chaff. More on that in a moment, but first some dizzying data:

The ongoing avalanche of iPhone games is unparalleled in the history of gaming. In the 20 months since its release, 6439 games have been released for the device, accounting for 23% of all iPhone apps, and nearly doubling the nearest category (entertainment).[1]

Compare these numbers to those of the Nintendo DS, the device on track to become the most successful game system in history. In the 4 years and 4 months since it appeared, approximately 800 games have been released for the system worldwide. That's 15 new DS games per month versus 322 new iPhone games per month, and the iPhone numbers continue to accelerate.

So the reasons behind the wheat/chaff problem are fairly obvious, and while I initially applauded Apple's decision to avoid playing application gatekeeper, I've begun to wonder if somebody ought to at least be playing quality control officer. Letting the market sort things out makes sense under some circumstances, but the abysmal system of perusing games and reviews via iTunes makes this nearly impossible.

And does Apple really want a game as broken and awful as Air Hockey on its shiny trendy gadget? When it was submitted for review, why didn't someone in Cupertino play this game for 5 minutes, raise a mallet high in the air, and bang a gong to the tune of "Rejected"?

Plenty of good games are available for the iPhone, such as Edge, Eliss, Fieldrunners, and Zen Bound. But of these, only Eliss and Zen Bound seem to have been conceived as iPhone-specific games. While it's terrific and well-designed, Fieldrunner's main selling point is that it's a tower defense game I can carry in my pocket. Aside from that, it's basically just another solid tower defense game. Nothing wrong with that, of course, but I think it's been over-praised mostly because it exists on the iPhone.

Edge strikes me as a different sort of animal. It's fun and challenging, and I admire the art style and overall vibe of the game. But I find it hard to overlook the fact that its primary gameplay mechanic is managing the iPhone's touchscreen or accelerometer. In other words, the real challenge Edge presents the player is doing things on the iPhone that would otherwise be child's play with a gamepad or mouse. Lots of iPhone games fall into this trap, as did the first wave of Wiimote-obsessed Wii games.

Hugely popular games like iDracula also suggest that we're still swimming in a sea of adulation for this tricked out uber-iPod. Described by the developer as "The Most intense game ever! Not for the nervous!" iDracula is routinely hailed by one reviewer after another for its amazing graphics. And they do look impressive on the iPhone's screen. It's also rather amazing to play a 3rd-person shooter on a device with no hard controls.

Unfortunately, as a shooter iDracula is brain-dead and repetitive with a control scheme that has carpal tunnel written all over it. The only possible explanation I can offer for why this game is so popular: it's currently the best we can do for an action shooter on the iPhone.

Despite the 6000+ games currently available, I guess I still have my doubts about the iPhone as a gaming platform. When your primary input device (your finger) obscures your view of the screen and field of play (a problem in most of the games I've tried), it's hard for me to see that system as optimized for gaming. I also find holding the iPhone uncomfortable after 15 minutes or so of gaming. Despite its superlative graphics and sound capabilities, the device simply doesn't feel like a game system to me. Tapping or dragging my finger across its screen feels like a compromise, not a feature.

Clever game designers will surely make me eat my words, and I welcome that day. I'll happily keep trying new iPhone games (next up for me is WordFu), but for now I'm sticking with my DS and PSP. Retro Game Challenge and Crisis Core are both making me very happy. More on each of them soon.