Myst – “Journeying Through Ages Past”

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When I first laid my eyes on the Miller brothers’ “Myst”, I knew it was something different. I couldn’t quite grasp what it was at the time – I was only twelve you see – but it was powerful enough to stay lurking in the back of my brain for all these years. My father, a man who appreciates cinema and classical music, but thoroughly belittles video-games, looked at “Myst” and sensed the same thing I now do: amazement. He couldn’t understand it, just as I couldn’t have, but he perceived enough to know it was special. And special “Myst” is, of that there is no doubt. It is as special as only a handful of video-games have ever been.

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Like the player, the game’s main character is literally thrown into an island covered in mist, surrounded by an endlessly sprawling sea.  Left entirely alone, the player is invited to embark on a voyage of discovery through a strange world, in hopes of deciphering its origins, and the reasons behind its emptiness and desolation. Faced with the ceaseless solitude, you can hear the gentle sound of the waves hitting shore, the sea breeze blowing softly, even bird’s chanting at times; your mind gently enters a state of calm and introspection. As you explore the scenery, lulled by its soothing ambiance, you encounter a dreamy realm, filled with breathtakingly beautiful natural scenery, but also an eerie mix of human constructions, from an impressive dome of classical architecture, to a sunken ship made of stone, not to mention a Jules Vernesque flying rocket. These remnants of the island’s inhabitants are the narrators of the story, as each building holds inside its history, either literally inscribed in it, in the writings of lost journals, or present in more subtle ways: imbued in its architecture, decoration or secret puzzles.

The puzzles thereby serve as the perfect metaphor for the unveiling of the hidden mysteries of the land. Solving them is a delight, not only because the game’s simple interface and elegant design makes them brilliant exercises of deductive reasoning, but also because they blend beautifully in the landscape, becoming a seamless part of that world. Simply put, every image, sound and object in “Myst” is a clue, making the aesthetic itself a part of the puzzle, a physical materialization of the secrets of the realms of “Myst”. The haunting atmosphere also becomes the embodiment of that story of ages past, with its atmospheric soundtrack (Robyn Miller) and realistic sound effects (Chris Brandkamp) serving as a natural complement to the surreal imagery.

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“Myst” is a spatial painting that players are invited to explore with their senses, but also an enigma which they must decipher with their minds. A hypnotizing interactive museum built in a world of utopia, where players are enticed to unveil the shrouding mystery that covers its past. More than anything, it’s a journey through many different, fantastic universes, a mesh of places where magic and technology merge into physical marvels that one can only observe in wonder; places where the most idyllic dreams of men have become a reality… All of this, condensed into an arresting piece of interactive entertainment and art. In other words, a Masterpiece.

score: 5/5

Castle Crashers – “Empty Nostalgia”

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Video-game revivalism is in. Thanks to on-line download services, gamers now have access to all those childhood classics that they cherished, or missed out on. More so, smaller development companies have started to cash in on that retro-spirit, in hopes of reaching vast audiences with low-budget titles available in download services. A return to the past is usually welcome – going back to simpler game designs, sustained only by the intricate quality of its interactivity, instead of its next-gen graphics or physic engines. But not all retro-revivalism is welcome. Video-games have evolved in the last years. Surely not as much as some (me included) might have wanted, but they have, for all intents and purposes, evolved. “Castle Crashers'” developers (Dan Paladin and Tom Fulp) however, seem to take advantage of the lack of criticism surrounding retro-gaming, to produce simplistic games that when properly dissected, show how empty and retrograde their game-design philosophies really are.

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Simply put, there’s nothing new about “Castle Crashers”. It’s a bare knuckles “Golden Axe” clone without the dark fantasy ambiance, a mindless brawler without the polish and challenge arcade games excel at… it’s, well, utterly redundant and uninteresting. Nevermind the fact that the its authors seem to take pleasure in exposing the shallowness of their venture, through their crude humor and infantile, cartoonish aesthetic; the bottom line is that “Castle Crashers” is simply not that good of an action game. Not that it doesn’t have its fair share of well executed ideas – level design is sometimes inspired, and its RPG character levelling is simple, but effective – but nothing it does well actually deserves mentioning or praise. Of course, the answers to all my criticisms could be “co-op”, to which I’d reply, if you don’t take pleasure in playing a game solo, why would it make it better if you play it in the exact same way with someone? Co-op needs to be inserted in games with the purpose of allowing cooperative or competitive efforts. “Castle Crashers'” idea of cooperation is bashing enemies together.  Now, this can be entertaining, but it’s entertaining because you get to play with your friends. You should compliment your friends, not the game.

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Nothing about “Castle Crashers” is actually any good. If it were released a few years back, it would be seen as a quirky game, but little else. So many, many classic games have already done what “Castle Crashers” does well, but with much more creativity and care to detail, that it makes no sense to even look it as anything more than a glorified de-make.  Sure, its on-line features are a blessing, but today you have access to many of the classic games that inspired “Castle Crashers” available for download, sometimes even with online play. So why settle with the demeaning qualities of a copy, when you can get the superiority of the original, for a smaller price?

Project Zero II – “Dark Corners”

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Japanese folklore is riddled with ghost stories, dark tales of the occult about strange rituals that occur somewhere in the long forgotten villages of the Japanese countryside, where the light of rationalism hasn’t yet shun way obscurantism. To westerners such as myself, these tales are bizarre and shocking, reveling in a paraphernalia of symbols and religious undertones of which we have but the shallowest of understandings. Their inherent estrangement to our cultural and aesthetic frame of reference makes them intriguing and fascinating, not to mention particularly effective in the conveying of fear. Thanks to the success of films such as “Ringu” and “Ju-On”, these tales have become obligatory pop-references around the world. Unfortunately, in the video-game landscape, with its regional and linguist protectionism, horror-themed Japanese works are a rarity to those who live in the left half of the globe. Even “Silent Hill“, which shares a spiritual relationship with traditional forms of Japanese Horror, dilutes it in a sea of western influenced ideas and themes. It’s for this reason that video-game series like “Project Zero” and “Siren” are somewhat special, as they are the few glimpses of traditional Japanese horror that we have access to. In that regard, “Project Zero II – Crimson Butterfly” is as close to that specific universe as we’ll probably ever get.

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“Project Zero II” is a tragic tale of horror, featuring a pair of twins who, one day, wander around a forest, only to find themselves trapped in a ghost town, named “All God’s Village”, which… no longer exists. It’s similar, on many levels, to its predecessor, featuring a traditional tale about sacrifice, the upholding of tradition, the respect for higher powers, and its inevitable clash with each individual’s spirit and feelings. However, this time around, the story focuses more coherently on the relationship between the main characters (the two siblings), achieving greater emotional impact and depth in characterization. It’s post-ICO in that way, but whereas in Ueda’s masterpiece the love relationship was implied in narrative and deepened through interaction, “Crimson Butterfly” settles with the former. Despite that, putting emotional drive on the forefront of a game is rare, especially considering the delicate nature of “Project Zero’s” female protagonists.

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Exploring “All God’s Village” is facing the dark and the oppressive: the dead silence of the surrounding woods is only matched by the decrepit nature of the ancient village, with its crumbling edifices casting their shadows over the scarce moonlight. The dirty halls of the houses pave room for an astonishing mise-en-scéne, with careful lighting patterns illuminating the dark corners of the haunted halls and traditional Japanese decoration establishing the set’s mood with consistency and attention to detail. Akira Nishimura, art designer, accomplished a real feat here, by being able to produce such an intricate set, while resorting to a relatively small budget.

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However, as is so common in the means, things get fiddly on a purely interactive level. Whilst Makoto Shibata (director) and his “Project Zero” team show that they’ve come to understand how traditional Japanese horror works in literature and cinema, they fail in properly adapting its structural form and aesthetic to the interactive dimension. Though “Project Zero II” is, most of the time, a by the numbers, well paced action-adventure game, with simple puzzles and exploration sequences, its main grab comes from its combat system, implemented by the “Camera Obscura”, a camera capable of exorcising demons and other-worldly figures. Never mind the verisimilitude of such an item, the bottom line is that it works as a way of putting the player face to face with the ghosts that the game throws at him. And by using the first person perspective, the game heightens the subjective feel of the apparitions, playing with players’ tension and making them all the more conscious of the game’s protagonist’s sensation upon encountering such spirits. However, it seems the game designers thought this game mechanic to be too good to avoid exploring to its fullest, and so, to what was a natural, aesthetically unobtrusive battle system, they added a plethora of game-y interfaces and power ups, not to mention a point driven level up system, as ways to enhance the system’s ludic aspects. Suffice to say, they hurt the dramatic core of the game’s narrative and its aesthetic cohesiveness, adding an excessively noisy design layer to what should obviously be a moody experience.

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Unlike “Silent Hill”, “Project Zero” isn’t able to come to full fruition as a horror video-game, mostly due to its lack of maturity in the interactive department, with its game-y ideas breaking away the foreboding atmosphere that the art design and soundtrack so laboriously work to achieve. However, “Crimson Butterfly” can still translate to the video-game means most of what makes traditional Japanese Horror unique, by serving as the perfect embodiment of its aesthetic and narrative expression. That is what ultimately allows players to be taken to that unpleasant place to which they dare not go: the dark corners of the human mind, those dark recesses of evil, where fears take the shape of monsters and the dead shadows of the past come back to life… that frightening place where we must face our sins.

score: 4/5

 

Takayoshi Sato Interview

It’s not in my habit for me to link to other blogs or sites, as a way to propagate news or otherwise irrelevant pieces of information on the videogame media landscape. I simply assume people who take an interest in my blog have access to the same information as I have, and are smart enough to select their own dose of internet dailies.  However,  sometimes one must break his own rules, and this is that day for me. As you may or may not have noticed, I nurture a big reverence towards “Silent Hill”, a series of games which I believe to be mostly unmatched in the History of games, for the complexity of its human dilemmas, its brilliant aesthetic background, and its success as an interactive work. My dear, dear friend Dieubussy [who besides being someone I hold dear, is, hands down, the most cultured, knowledgeable individual that I have ever met, when it comes to video-game’s history and art (and many other areas)] has had the pleasure of interviewing one of the geniuses behind the “Silent Hill” series, Takayoshi Sato (CG director and director of “Silent Hill 2”).  Read the interview, in English, here, it’s probably the best advise I have ever given in this blog.

Final Fantasy XII – “Braving New Skies”

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When Hironobu Sakaguchi left Square, he left an authorial void for the “Final Fantasy” series. Though he had relinquished his place as director many years before, he had assured a coherent evolution of the work through his mentoring as Executive Producer. When he left, his vision was naturally discontinued. While some might see this departure as the dire end of the “Final Fantasy” brand, it was a necessary evil for the series to move on. In the nineties, the name “Final Fantasy” was a synonym for new audacious ventures and the enlightened exploration of the boundaries of both video-games in general and role-playing games in specific, but since then the series had become enthralled in its mentor’s vision. What was once a guiding beacon had become a blinding beam of light. Change was needed. Enters Yasumi Matsuno [which I’ve already discussed briefly in this article], author behind “Final Fantasy Tactics” and “Vagrant Story”. Charged with the directing of “Final Fantasy XII”, Matsuno seems to have wanted to impose his unique take on the genre; the change that would ensue from his ego’s imposition on the series cannon would lead to some dissent from the more fervorous fans. But change bares its prices, and one cannot explore new landscapes without leaving the common and familiar settings which we grew accustomed to.

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The game’s backdrop is Ivalice; at first glance it is not that much unlike the worlds from previous “Final Fantasies”: its blend of science-fiction and high fantasy is very similar to its predecessors and the aesthetic follows many traditional tropes for the series (moogles, chocobos, spunky haired heroes, flashy colors and wardrobe, etc). But when probed deeper, it reveals some staggering changes in tone. Visually, the influence from Hiroshi Minagawa’s (art director and co-director) style is prevalent, with his use of earthy tones and eastern motif’s dominating the landscape. All of the game’s art builds these cohesive images in your mind, from the Archade’s art-deco meets Babylon’s hanging gardens, to Dalmasca’s middle eastern vibe, with its crowded streets, bustling street markets and sprawling deserts. Ivalice has that unique quality that good fantasy pieces tend to possess: it’s dreamy and magical, but it bares a cohesiveness and wealth of detail that we come to associate with the real world. Character design and soundtrack are also a departure for the series following the style of Matsuno’s previous games: Akihiko Yoshida took Nomura’s place in translating Amano’s paintings into each character, and Uematsu’s intimate and delicate compositions were replaced by Hitoshi Sakimoto’s and Masaharu Iwata’s more orchestral, opulent music styles.

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The game’s narrative themes also clash with “Final Fantasy” tradition, being more akin to a Shakespeare play than the typical high fantasy cliches that overrun the genre. Sakaguchi’s bed-time naivete is avoided, paving way for a medieval drama that deals with corruption, moral ambiguities and the troubles of monarchic and autocratic states, with royal family intrigue, the constant back-stabbing of political figures and the waging of a war serving as the forefront for the action. However, despite the well penned background (by Miwa Shoda and Daisuke Watanabe) and the enticing narrative structure, there’s a constant influence from “Star Wars” in many of the story’s motifs. From the presence of a sky-pirate and his furry sidekick, to the main character being a princess whose kingdom was conquered by an evil empire, not to mention the operatic climax, a battle being waged with many “star-ships” and “battle cruisers” (directed in similar fashion to recent “Star Wars” episodes), the references are simply too prevalent to discard as coincidence. This influence is ill-fated, as it creeps its way into the aesthetic background, and doing so, breaks away the consistency of the world which bares little relationship with Lucas’ universe.

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The biggest change in “XII” however, comes from where it was most needed: game-play. Turn based battle systems were starting to accuse their age, and perhaps more importantly, their constant lack of innovation. Despite all the good that previous “Final Fantasies” had introduced to make action more dynamic, tactical and well paced, none comes close with the revolution brought about by this twelfth iteration. Firstly, its MMORPG inspired battle system is seamless, featuring no awkward transition from exploration to battle, in essence making the world feel less fragmented. And because battles apparently run in real time, it makes them swifter, more frantic and engaging. In all fairness, it is still a turn battle system running underneath: you can still pause the game at any time, giving orders for each ensuing turn and characters only act when their ATB bar is filled. But the pacing is so fast, that actions really feel like they’re being executed in real time. More so, you can move your characters in real time, making the illusion more consistent and adding depth to tactical placement of characters.

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The problem when moving turn based battle systems into real time, comes from the fact that battles become too fast paced to leave space for tactical thinking and strategy planning. And this is where the game strikes a chord of genius, by introducing a customizable AI system named ‘Gambit’. It’s basically an interface to control each character’s AI, based on an “If Event_A happens then do Action_B” kind of logic. It gives you the power to accurately determine each character’s behavior in combat facing various situations and outcomes, thus allowing for a near infinite number of tactical choices. By combining speed with tactical thinking, the game gives you the perfect battle system – one that never feels old. Battles become fast and smooth and grinding becomes fun instead of a chore. It’s simple, elegant and above all, incredibly entertaining; without a shadow of a doubt, the best “Final Fantasy” battle system since “VII”. In fact, game-play in “XII” is so good that its only flaw is that it becomes a huge driving focus of the game, over-shadowing narrative, which ultimately ends up developing slower than would be normal for a “Final Fantasy”.

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“Final Fantasy XII” maintains all of the important qualities of the series, but in all of its expressive dimensions, there’s something new and fresh to it. It’s a game that tries to break free from the stylistic notions that ruled its predecessors, and that is in my opinion, its greatest accomplishment. If anything, Matsuno’s greatest failing in “Final Fantasy XII” is that he was not able to completely cut away Sakaguchi’s legacy. At times, the game does feel contrived and bounded by certain classic “Final Fantasy” precepts and whether that is due to Matsuno’s premature departure from the project (for health reasons) or for the known friction between the staff’s different teams, remains unknown. Despite the fact, what we’re left with is an a new adventure that revolutionizes what the name “Final Fantasy” stands for. Matsuno took a huge risk to brave new skies, challenging the genre’s preconceptions and venturing where few had dared to. And that is Final fantasy’s true spirit: to lead the RPG genre into new horizons. It just took Matsuno-san to break away from the past and actually do it.

score: 4/5

[Thanks to Rheinmetall for asking for this review. It’s a bit more traditional than I usually come up with, but I hope you enjoy it.]