I like games about shooting. I like to run, and jump, and blow things up. I’m a fairly cerebral – some would say pretentious – type. My musical tastes are 50% chasing avant-garde newness, 50% over-thinking pop; in film, I talk about the new Coen Bros, how Where The Wild Things Are figures in the Jonze/Kaufman/Eggers canon, in a way that annoys my girlfriend. And yet, in gaming, it’s yr Halos, yr Marios, yr Grand Theft Autos that grab me. These are the videogames your parents warned you about- the ones with the explosions and childish colours and dinosaurs and mindless killings. As this blog attests, I like the more thinky games too – Bioshock, say, or indie games – and I definitely like to over-think games. But those games, almost without exception, are the ones where I get to do physical things. Shooters, platformers, action games… For me, gaming is that physicality. It’s fair to say that I am: fairly chubby, non-athletic, completely lacking in any hand-coordination beyond the confines of my keyboard. I’m not incapable of experiencing the rush of speed and activity: semi-regular biking, or my occasional attempts at fitness through running. But, by and large, I’m not regularly putting aside time for sports or major physical activity. I’m not in any Fight Clubs. In this way, I’m pretty much your average ‘hardcore’ gamer.My sport is Halo multiplayer, my exercise a burst of left-to-right platformer. I take out day-to-day frustration on the poor citizens of Liberty City, or the buildings of Mars, or anyone unfortunate enough to be worse than me on shooting games. I need that physicality- the Fight Club thought leads me down an entire new path of thought, where that extreme physicality – fighting strangers – is sublimated safely into the (largely) non-active pursuit of gaming. But, my point remains: a game needs to be physical to succeed. For me, anyway. I don’t mind using my brain – whether in Portal‘s puzzles, or deciphering the avant-garde mystery of Time Fcuk, or learning about Objectivism and Ayn Rand from Bioshock -I just want to feel engaged in that world. The world is physical, so a gameworld should be physical too. Simple as that.* Half of the joy of New Super Mario Bros Wii is bumping into your playmates, knocking them off ledges, picking them up, helpless. Living-room griefing, hilarious because of its unpredictability, bringing together housemates in a way only a few games have. Another of these being Sumotori Dreams, the fantastic slapstick physics–based drunk-outside-a-kebab-shop fighting game.Half-Life 2 made puzzles tangible, showing how using physics to carry through a simple task made it that much more entertaining. Portal took that a step further and, beyond a few mods floating around, no-one seems to have really tried since. I know it’s a tired maxim but games need to do what only games can. That’s interactivity, yes, but it’s also consistency, physical interaction. Remove the abstraction, and do less to distance the player. What I’m trying to say here, really, is aimed at the world of game developers in general. Make your games physical: represent what a player can do as fully as possible, make them feel possible of anything, and you can revive dead genres. You can make slapstick funny again. You can make a player feel powerful in a way Michael Bay never could. You can make it exciting to bounce a basketball around a room, for someone who’d never actually pick up a basketball. *It’s not quite as simple as that- my love for the point-&-click adventure game disproves my point, though my lack of love for strategy games, and loathing for turn-based combat** puts us back on familiar ground. Phew. **Further undermined by my current obsession with Solium Infernum. Balls.
The warthog rolls. Rolls. Say a quick prayer… Rolls! Yes! I’m back on my wheels, crew fully intact. I thank the UNSC for the divine gift of roll-cages. Oo-rah!Yes, it’s unmistakably Halo. I think the game gets a bad rep: that it attracts an audience of what might be (unkindly, but not uncommonly) termed idiots. This is the meta-story of Halo: the game for jocks. Also, the game that saved a system (Microsoft’s first Xbox). Sometimes people talk about the infamous 30-seconds-of-great-gameplay idea. But most of the time: it’s the shooting game for jocks. And, admittedly, it’s never going to be a classic example of Games-as-Art. Even a rabid fan like me (if I was doing an RPS-style Gaming Made Me– and I might yet- the first Halo would have to be on there.) I think that the reason for this status it that Halo, in multiplayer at least, is as close an example to sport as exists in gaming. A pure set of rules, occasionally tweaked, presented clearly; an environment for competition to flourish in.But there’s more to it than that. In its best incarnations (not Halo 3– a finely tuned sport for sure, but lacking a truly satisfying campaign), the singleplayer is a triumph. And here’s why that bit works, for me: it lets you role-play. I think it might just me be but… my fellow marines. In another favourite, Bioshock, the bittersweet triumph of felling a noble Big Daddy hurt. In Halo, losing the ally riding shotgun in my Warthog (the imaginatively named Rocket Guy) in a volley of purple laser causes me to emit a Vader-like “NOOO!” in mourning. Reason? Well, because I’m obsessively compulsive about keeping them all alive, the way I used to be about having 100% health (and a round number of bullets in each gun) in GTA3, a perfect record in Splinter Cell. But, more importantly, because in very basic ways these marines feel human. They shout like the marines from Aliens at opportune moments, and have individual accents. The much-mourned Rocket Guy, for example, was Australian, and knowing even that gives me something to grasp onto. Because, ultimately, half of the joy of gaming is role-playing. (The other half being rules, testing yourself against them, and testing their limitations. I know a lot of people who enjoy this element of Halo, too- seeking out the highest possible point on a given map, or investigating the “grenades under a Warthog” rumour.)Back to the point- I want to believe I am Master Chief, quietly iconic, as I crush a car under my tank tracks. The Master Chief would never leave a man behind. Even when it meant sacrificing the flow of the game a little- going back and replaying the last 10 minutes because . Testing the limits of the rules, again, but for a purpose. The replay becomes a mechanic in its own right, something that couldn’t exist in any other medium. It’s for this reason that the first level of Halo 2 is so brilliant. It knows exactly how excited you were going to be, dropping the hot-off-the-presses disc into the tree, and cribs from the Half-Life pre-game pre-amble, 10 minutes before you can even pick up a gun. But, with marines cheering me on as I stroll around a military base, I feel like a war hero. A celebrity. Later, my alien adversaries running away, screaming warnings of “The Demon”. An icon.And soon I’ve played too much and I have to put the Xbox away for a while. And then, the Bungie.net website steps in and lights up that excitable young boy in me (the one who never played D&D or any hardcore roleplaying, but looked at those fat glossy books of figures and descriptions and …wondered). Being able to read pages from the Halo Bible describing weapons, enemies and vehicles, sounds pedestrian -every game manual, surely- but the fiction runs deep. Reading marines’ accounts and comments on each topic gives a further edge of authenticity, next time I’m fighting to keep marines alive. It’s especially fascinating to see the fiction interact with the gameplay: a Ghost’s fuel tank is on its left-hand-side, so that is its weak point. It’s a world as immersive as you want to make it.(All of which is a little jarring next to the aforementioned sport of the online experience. A world of brillo-pad-to-the-soul-American-teenager-accents and racist abuse. A brilliant game, but with an execrable community behind it. That reputation is perhaps rightly deserved, but I’ve had some real tense, competitive games of Halo, more than anything else I’ve ever played.) So, Halo isn’t a piece of art. I don’t think many other people feel anything for their marines (in fact, I know people who purposely kill them, an idea which makes me wince as much as someone pulling the wings off a fly.) I know this is the last of the great Halo campaigns. But, the truth is: crouched behind a boulder as plasma bolts chip away at it, with Cortana whispering advice into my earpiece and fingering a magnum, I feel like James Bond, so why should anything else matter?
Looking back on old games is a funny thing. It’s the nature of this young games culture (probably, for once, to its credit) that innovation is prized more highly than any other single asset. We’re trying to push the medium forward, after all; but this means that going back to any game which did something particularly successfully, a couple of years later, is likely to be an experience of diminished enjoyment. The games industry, at its best, is a magpie, stealing all the shiny bits of other games and polishing and adding to them. Soon you begin to take that innovation for granted- four years ago, the Gears of War/Rainbow Six cover system was brand new. Now, it’s in everything, from the newest Grand Theft Auto to James Bond games and we can’t see how games ever survived without it. Ditto regenerating health. Driveable cars in shooting games. Games seem a little broken without these obvious additions- running out from behind a wall, shooting, and running back, This is a particularly peculiar experience when dealing with expansion packs. Even expandalones and completely reworked ‘expansions’ like the Half Life episodes are tied to their original source, but it’s the straight-up, original-games-with-nobs-on expansion that is most curious. Case in point here: GTA IV expansion Lost & The Damned.IV’s a strange game: it came with a very immediate backlash, after the shine of the (wonderful) new technology and (progressive, at least) new style Rockstar had introduced. I’ve badmouthed it a little before but it was one of my formative gaming experiences. Where was all the space of San Andreas? The variety? The ridiculousness of Vice City? Where the hell were our jetpacks? But I think its reputation has aged well. I was having a conversation with the friends I shared a copy of IV with, when it came out- I pointed out that our initial enthusiasm had seemed to burn out quickly, and if they thought it was a step backwards. They asked me, had I tried to go back and play San Andreas recently? It’s unplayable, they said. For all the ideas and innovations it added to the GTA formula (many of which were absent from IV), the nuts & bolts of that game, by modern standards, are fundamentally broken. IV polished the open-world, shooty-drivy game model to a hitherto unseen level- the newly crisp fidelity of this world and its inhabitants so much more tangible than the turn-round-and-they’ve-popped-out-of-existence world of the previous games. Which brings us, finally, to The Lost & The Damned. Revisiting that polished world a year and a bit later (forever in gaming times), it seems somewhat tarnished. The game is technically new- but the world is unmistakably the same. The wonderful features of IV are still there, still enjoyable- the opening cutscene is impeccably stylish, and I’ve already had one hilarious encounter with a Euphoria-powered character who held desperately onto my bike as I rode off. Yet, at times, I can’t help but wince. Buildings pop in and out of sight much closer than I remember, all the characters except Jonny seem to be drawn by throwing a tin of brown paint over four or five pixels. And I don’t remember Niko spouting canned lines so repetitively. In fact the game seems less accomplished than the much more sprawling IV, though I’m willing to admit that might be rose-tinted glasses speaking.Meanwhile, and perhaps it’s shallow, but the pure novelty of newness seems irrevocably gone. Without expanding on GTA IV the way Vice City did on GTA 3, there’s even less sense of discovery. The world seems wilfully artificial- I’ve been recently addicted to the Red Faction demo- my eyes have been opened to this ridiculously fun (if imperfect) mechanism. I’m wondering- why the hell can’t I plow through this wall? Meanwhile, Mirror’s Edge makes Johnny’s movements seem stiff and slow. Both of these games have (or, in the case of Red Faction‘s demo, seem to have) some large failings of their own. But what they do is so fresh that their flaws become forgivable. More importantly, what they do achieve retrospectively eats at all that came before. L&tD is caught in a bind between the two positions- neither perfectly polished nor novelly innovative- and this makes it harder to love it. It’s not a bad game by any means, but it’s hugely crippled by this problem. Gaming is such a forward-looking culture- apart from the odd stand-out, most commonly a Quake or Counter-Strike; ie, endlessly modifiable multiplayer games, we constantly hunger for the new. And often that seems like a failing, especially looking from the artsy hipster side of the fence, where I so often stand. But I think (3D, at least) gaming hasn’t, maybe, yet reached the base level of tricks that, say, film has always had to hand. We’re still developing those, and while we do, the standout classics-for-all-time will that much rarer. Gaming historians of the future will be interested in the innovators, but games like, say, Portal– relentlessly polished- are the best contenders for all-time-classic status. Maybe. Confession: Apologies, imaginary readers, for the giant hiatus there. The all-consuming entity of exams took me over for a bit there. I’ve missed you- and Blogspot most of all- I was always thinking of you, baby. The draft pages here are full of barely-begun ideas from across that period. But its hard to write about a media you’ve sworn yourself off for revision purposes. Let’s hope it pays off, eh? Confession II: I can see already there are flaws with this idea. For one, games can be both polished and innovative- HL2 remains very playable to this day, even if it’s losing its looks with age. My opinion on GTAIV changes with the seasons. And I’m not sure how this applies to old games you’ve never really played: the acrobatic responsiveness of Mario 64 still impressed me when I got it for the Wii a year or two ago. I’ve got a cheap copy of Half-Life […]