Like many people, the main reason I play games is to discover new things, experience new worlds and all sorts of similarly pretentious phrases. I don't usually obsess over collectibles and I don't mind not playing the game on hard mode, being very much the Tourist of Mitch Krpata's excellent article, A New Taxonomy of Gamers. The problem is, if I play games mainly for the joy of discovery, the ones that I've already discovered are bound to result in less joy. It's very rare, then, that I've been compelled to immediately start again after finishing a game. When it's a very good game, that's a sad thing: it can never make me feel the same way again.

I first experienced this with old Lucasarts graphic adventures. The reason I wasn't immediately replaying was ostensibly that I'd know how to solve the puzzles and so after waiting a year or two to forget some of them, it'd be worth replaying. It turns out it goes much deeper than that, though. What I really needed to forget was the little touches, the stuff that when playing the game again in a couple of years will give me a small reminder of just how good the game was. Sure, it's not as good a feeling as playing the game for the first time - but as a shadowy reflection of that feeling, it does an pretty good job.

Even this comes at a price, though. Each time I replay a game, I retain more of it in my memory, for longer - kind of like learning a song. First you remember the chorus, then the verse melody, then after listening more and more you learn all of the nice little touches going on in the background until you know it like the back of your hand. Better, in fact. Who really spends time learning the back of their hand, anyway? With each replay of a game, I need to wait longer before playing it again, and there comes a time when I know it so well that the urge to replay it almost completely disappears - even if it's one of my favourite games ever. When this happens, the memory of playing the game gives me far more pleasure than actually playing the game itself. This must be what nostalgia feels like. If only there were a way (that doesn't involve a large hammer to the head) to unplay a game - to forget how it made me feel the first time, so that I could access those feelings once more. Failing that, there is a little trick I've learned and would like to pass on.

I'm a big fan of comedy and I face the same problem watching comedy as I do playing games - surely most people would agree that it's much harder to laugh at something on repeat watches. I suppose that's why I do improvised comedy - there's a constant discovery in that; I can take part in or watch the same show as many times as I like and it'll always stay fresh. But I digress. I noticed that when watching comedy with friends, especially ones who haven't seen it before, I suddenly find it much funnier again, almost as if I'm discovering it vicariously via the other people watching, feeding off their enjoyment like some kind of comedy parasite. Except that nobody gets hurt. I'm not sure what mechanism is at work here - is it empathy for how the other person is feeling when seeing it for the first time? Do I get enjoyment out of the anticipation of a laugh that I know is coming? Perhaps a mixture? The important part is that the same mechanism works with games. For example, I have played Portal many times in this way - in fact, I like the game so much that whenever I find a friend who hasn't played it and believe they will enjoy it, I make every effort to force it upon them and, failing that, all but strap them to a chair while playing it myself. Maybe that's a little selfish. Maybe even a leeeetle bit creepy but hey - it works. They usually thank me for it in the end.

I'm sounding creepy again, aren't I?

In any case, it's a bit of a hollow victory, like finding a glitch in a game which makes it easier. Whatever way you spin it, the end result is that to replay a game I usually either need to wait a good amount of time or experience it through other people. It's still not the same. What would be a true instant replay game for me, then? It would have to be something where I would be compelled to start again right away, without finding artificial means to increase my enjoyment. Come to think of it, exactly that has happened very recently - and with a game many people have criticised for not having any replay value at all. If you haven't guessed, I'm talking about Braid.

For me, Braid was a game rich with metaphor and meaning. It didn't start out that way - at first some of the meaning seemed too clear, the metaphors I suspected of being forced (I wrote a little about this back in the Blogspot days). Eventually, though, it blossomed out beautifully in many directions at once. When I finished the game, I understood some of the meaning and was aware of many of the metaphors but even though I'd seen almost every inch of it, it still felt as if there was a lot more meaning to discover. Each replay since my first, I am still noticing new things, still wringing another metaphor out of it, still understanding something better. This process of discovery doesn't extend just to the story but also to the puzzles themselves - I'm finding better ways to solve them by understanding the underlying mechanics more closely. It has been a rare and precious thing indeed for me to find a game so layered that sometimes I feel like I am getting more out of it the second time than even the first. Braid is the best and most recent example of that and hopefully there will be many more examples to come.

As for everything else... hmm. Anyone out there still not played Portal? Anyone? Come into my parlour... shh, it's okay! This won't hurt a bit.