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This is usually the part where I go on a multi-paragraph tangent to set up “context”, but let’s not dilly-dally this time. So, let me say this to start: SPACE IS AWESOME. There may still be plenty of mysteries left here on Earth, but the stars are the premiere source of adventure in both fiction and real life. Anything could be out there, but the one surefire thing is the potential for exploration.
Space can scratch that itch, and take us to whole new places. Admittedly, that adventure is only possible with some hyper-rigorous training and skill in real life (a sobering truth for six-year-old Voltech), but a good story can compensate with ease. And of course, the same thing applies to a good game.
Which brings us to Pikmin 3 -- the game you should have played already if you love games. And/or space.
Here’s the skinny. The planet Koppai is in the middle of a food shortage, and in a desperate attempt to survive, expeditions are led to the far reaches of space. That puts you in control of three explorers: the dorky yet good-natured Alph, sharp-tongued botanist Brittany, and macho captain Charlie. Well, in theory, at least; as Pikmin games tend to go, the touchdown on new soil goes awry and leaves the crew separated. You start off as Alph, and -- with the help of the native Pikmin you meet early on -- your adventure amidst the worst (and best) nature has to offer begins.
Still, there’s an important wrinkle to the story and gameplay alike. See, the three explorers only have a finite level of resources -- which is to say, they’re low on food. With each completed day in Pikmin 3, the team (be it one, two, or three members) consumes one stock of food -- or juice in this case -- from their reserves. So keeping the game going is made possible by finding fruit in the field; you can apparently go back to an earlier point in your journey if you put yourself in an unwinnable situation, but the point still stands. If you don’t keep finding food, your team will die of starvation.
Sooooooo...Pikmin 3: rated E for Everlasting Nightmares.
You can think of the game’s plot as a three-pronged mission. Obviously, the immediate objective is to keep gathering fruit so your crew stays alive. But on top of that, Alph and the others will have to keep scouring the land for clues on Olimar’s whereabouts -- because the way things are looking, the only way they’ll be able to return home is if they get some of his parts/data.
And of course, there’s the whole reason the crew blasted off in the first place: they need to find a solution to the hunger crisis. Given how the game plays out, I’m guessing that if the crew’s going to save their home, they’ll have to
be saved by the plot find some hidden bonanza that’ll offer up sustenance on a global scale.
In any case, I’m actually kind of surprised by how much I like the story -- and the characters, more than anything. Nintendo’s not usually the one you think of when it comes to sprawling tales (remember the Other M debacle?), and while what’s here is…slight, more or less, it’s full of charm. Alph is the straight-laced smart guy of the group, but he’s dedicated to the captain to a feverish degree, to the point where he tried to copy his hairstyle.
Brittany’s very goal-oriented, and while she’s just as curious about this alien planet as Alph (maybe more so), several of her lines imply she has been -- or is -- considering mutiny. Captain Charlie’s a macho, macho man with plenty of confidence and bravado…which lets him shrug off getting carted off by a flying monster minutes after touching down on the planet’s surface. They sell themselves with their dialogues in the field, but what I really appreciate is how you can have them talk to one another before starting a new day. Party synergy is simply the best.
If for some reason you’ve never known how Pikmin works -- in which case I wonder why you’re even here -- here’s a rundown. You play as an explorer and take command of the planet’s indigenous creatures, the Pikmin -- bipedal plant-men of varying properties, but with furious loyalty and the work ethic of the average assembly line. You can travel around with a squad of up to a hundred of them, so they’ll fight on your behalf, clear obstacles, and cart resources back to the home base centered on your ship.
In exchange, you’ll give the Pikmin commands and keep their numbers strong by feeding their Onion (their personal ship) pellets and downed enemies. Pull the seeds that pop out from the ground, and you’ve got more soldiers. Or leave them in the Onion and build up a reserve in case something goes wrong. Chances are that you’ll need some reserves, especially if a Beady Long Legs catches you unaware.
Man, I hate those guys and all their kind. The bastards are like death incarnate.
The big wrinkle in the gameplay is that you’ll be controlling all three explorers simultaneously -- or maybe “asynchronously” is the word I’m looking for. While Alph, Brittany, and Charlie all play identically (as far as I know), each one is capable of taking control of a fragmented Pikmin team to complete separate objectives. So if you want Alph to hang back and harvest pellets while Brittany tends to a wall and Charlie builds a bridge, then you can do that. In fact, that’s pretty much how the game will play, even before you fully reunite the team; multi-tasking ensures that you get the most done in a single day.
It’s worth noting, though, that you’ll have to use your explorers to clear certain obstacles -- to the point where you can’t progress in some early areas until you’ve got a team of three. You can forcibly separate them by tossing your other two teammates as you would any other Pikmin, and toss some Pikmin to them so they can continue on the other end. To be fair, that mechanic was a part of Pikmin 2 with the Olimar/Louie duo, but it’s nice to see that it’s back again and taken to the next step…even if that next step was just “the same, but more.”
I was thinking about calling Pikmin 3 “industrious”, but now I’m not so sure if that fits. Sure, when you’ve got all your pieces moving, you’re a hundred-three-man machine. But being industrious implies being surrounded by and dependent on technology -- and while you do make use of it (in-universe and out of it), the emphasis is on nature. And as it stands, that might be the secret to the game’s quality; even if you don’t exactly get to go from planet to planet, or use space as much more than a safe haven (in-universe) and a level select screen (out of it), it’s still the game that makes you into an explorer. An adventurer. A player who can walk away with some REAL experiences, not just the buzzword version thrown around these days.
It’d be downright silly to call Pikmin 3 an open-world game, because even if its areas are surprisingly large (I constantly find myself thinking, “Wait, you mean there’s MORE?!”), they’re self-contained stages with challenges and obstacles to call their own. Still, that’s something that helps keep the focus; you go out in search of fruit, figure out what needs to be done, and do it with your Pikmin squad. Considering that the explorers are technically no bigger than a quarter, the levels aren’t just window dressing; they’re puzzles to be solved, even if they are broken into dozens of spread-out micro-challenges.
It’s true that there are deadly creatures you have to deal with in your quest for fruit -- including story-advancing boss battles -- but there’s a de-emphasis on combat in general. The game puts more focus on nature, and treats that as the enemy instead of some alien horror. Really, that’s how it should be; generally speaking, beating enemies comes down to “throw Pikmin at it until it stops breathing”.
And technically that’s true for a lot of the obstacles in the field, but there are still plenty of things you have to manage and plan out and solve on the fly. That’s a form of conflict you don’t see every day in games; you can’t beat nature, especially in Pikmin 3. Instead, you have to maneuver through it. You have to be wary of it. You have to make use of it, and even change it -- however slightly -- so that it suits your fancy.
It’s a conceit that works wonders for the gameplay. You’re discovering new things on a regular basis, whether it’s a new obstacle to overcome or a new sight to be beheld as you fill in an area’s map. It should go without saying that the environments are beautiful, but the world feels alive in more ways than just “Yo, check all this nature, bro”.
I think this is the game that best sells Nintendo’s design philosophy -- or to be more precise, its intentions with the Wii U GamePad. As always, it’s not detrimental to gameplay, or the player’s hands; it’s true that it’s larger and weightier than the average controller, but it has yet to hamper my ability to play any given title. More to the point, it adds more than it takes away, especially in Pikmin 3.
The most common use, for me at least, is to use the touch screen to send a B-team Pikmin squad to a different area while the A-team (under my command) went somewhere else. Coordinated attack patterns, and all that -- the perfect way to solve a puzzle or position my forces without the hassle of sifting through menus and button presses. (It certainly helps that the action is paused whenever you get ready to do it, or when you’re just checking the GamePad map.)
There’s some additional stuff, of course. If you’re looking for more in-depth stats and data, you can check all that on the touch screen just as you would the map. You’ll be able to find info on the enemies you’ve faced, tips on getting the most out of your Pikmin, and info from Olimar, just to name a few things. On top of that, every now and then -- i.e. in story moments -- you’ll be asked to look at the touch screen to receive messages from your teammates or your ship. So if you’re talking to Brittany (as much as one can) via the GamePad, Alph will be doing the same in-game on his “KopPad”, AKA his all-purpose explorer’s tool. It’s a cute little touch that helps the player synergize with the game.
The more I think about it, the more I realize Pikmin 3 has a hidden element that can really resonate: being able to take pictures in-game. At first I didn’t think much of it, and just showed some friends that you can take Pikmin selfies with the GamePad as your camera (however strange it may feel). But now I realize that it’s part of the mindset. It’s not just about taking selfies; it’s about making the player feel even more like an explorer, and even more like a part of some strange alien world. But you can claim ownership of tiny slices of it -- turn the sights you see into digitized memories.
Take away the conflict in this game and what do you have? A straight-up expedition. An adventure. And guess who’s holding the scrapbook?
That really is the best way to play it. Alph, Brittany, and Charlie have a reason to be on that planet: to find a way to survive, to escape, and ensure that their planet survives in kind. That’s their mission -- but it’s not yours. Even if you can identify with them and synergize with them, you don’t have any reason to care about the fate of their world. You’re only there as an observer -- as a way to have fun. It sounds selfish, but really, even the best, most engrossing video games have that as their core conceit.
But Pikmin 3 makes true on its understood promise. The player wants an experience, so it provides. It gives you an opportunity to explore, and learn, and discover new things, and -- maybe most of all -- see mundane, everyday things in a whole new light. Why else would you be able to see grapes rendered lovingly in HD with full camera control as computers scan each piece? Why would there be an entire subsection of the menu dedicated to analyzing beasts and fruits alike, and have it be awesome?
Hey, can you tell I love this game yet?
I suppose for completion’s sake I should talk about the combat. Like I said, you can resolve a lot of conflicts just by throwing enough Pikmin at an enemy -- so with that in mind, you can play the button-mashing card and nobody would fault you. A big change from the other Pikmin games is that (as far as I know) you can’t move your soldiers around with just the right stick. It’s a strange choice, and while it does feel like a loss sometimes, it’s not a game-breaking one. You can still toss out and call back Pikmin, and one of the most notable additions is the ability to dodge roll your entire squad to escape from trouble. Makes me wonder if someone on the dev team is a fan of Kingdom Hearts 1.
What this means is that battles are chaotic as all get out -- in a good way, and a bad one. It’s good in the sense that, in a lot of cases, you can’t just sit around and hammer that button; you have to stay mobile, bobbing and weaving as you avoid enemy attacks and pick up Pikmin that get tossed around (or worse). Couple that with the need to take advantage of specific Pikmin abilities at times, AND targeting certain body parts/sides, and there are some strategic wrinkles to combat. One of the early bosses has you taking on an armored worm, meaning that you have to toss heavy-hitting Rock Pikmin to shatter its shell pieces, and throw damage-dealing Red Pikmin at the soft spots you uncover. Don’t expect said boss to make that easy for you, though.
Still, I’m not a hundred percent sold on some of the underlying mechanics. In normal situations -- in a fight and out of it -- you have to manually aim Pikmin to where you want to throw them, as shown by a bright reticle and trajectory arc. It works, for sure, but at times it doesn’t exactly feel the most precise; that lack of precision -- and the general need to aim -- is the last thing you want when you’ve got some massive beast trying to chew you up like a doggy treat.
You can make things a lot easier on yourself by using a lock-on feature, but at times it felt as if I had to switch between lock-on and lock-off in order to get the exact tosses I wanted. It could be that I just need to adjust to the learning curve, and that’s where the skill in the game comes on. Even if that’s true, though, is Pikmin 3 really the sort of game where you’d want a learning curve to the controls?
Still, I’m not about to dock metaphorical points at this stage. Even if there are flaws, what I’m concerned with most right now is the core concept. It’s the design philosophy that the game is built around -- and excels at selling that philosophy to the player.
Here’s the interesting bit. When you find files out there in the field, you won’t just get tips from Olimar; you’ll find his personal logs, detailing his expedition of the planet. I know it’s hard to imagine Olimar as anything more than a silent protagonist -- he has a whopping zero voice clips in Smash Bros. Brawl -- but the logs show just what sort of person he is, at least right now. He’s a die-hard treasure hunter, and there’s a level of fervor to his words that suggest maybe, just maybe, he’s gone off the rails. He’s willing to brave the risks of the planet for the sake of some new trinkets…which might be a problem because as far as I can tell, there aren’t any salvageable treasures in Pikmin 3.
It seems strange to make Olimar’s side story a straight-up retread of Pikmin 2 -- that is, until you realize that it’s a way for Pikmin 3 to completely disown the philosophy of Pikmin 2. Taken as-is, Pikmin 3 can be interpreted as a way to completely refute the loot-fests spread throughout the gaming canon.
Am I reaching here? Probably. But hear me out. Destiny (or its marketing at least) promised us the stars, but in the end it boils down to “shoot aliens and get loot”. It’s a disservice to the extreme amount of effort and resources from an army of artists and programmers. Worse yet, it railroads players even without sticking them in some endless hallway or set of corridors; the only thing that matters, however subtly, is getting better stuff so you can…get better stuff again. And again. And again.
The stuff in games needs to matter again. It needs to do more than just make players go through the motions -- and that’s what Pikmin 3 strives for. Olimar’s story is there to remind players that they’re not on that planet just for glory; they’re on a mission, and a dangerous one full of traps and terrors. If you screw around, you will die. The “loot” in this case isn’t something you can use as a symbol of prestige; at most, you can find utilities that give you more HP or the aforementioned dodge roll. You’re using that loot to stay alive, and earn the right to continue your perilous journey -- a journey that may very well put your explorers’ home on the line.
All of that makes Pikmin 3 sound like some harrowing, desperate struggle. It is, but that’s only one side of the coin. The intent with this game, no doubt, is to make that expedition into something fantastic; the weight of danger, failure, and doom are there to make the positives shine that much brighter. You can discover some horrible monsters, but there’s absolutely nothing stopping you from finding glistening fruit, and hear the delight of your explorers as they wonder how it tastes.
There’s nothing stopping you from appreciating a gentle snowfall as you toss your soldiers back and forth across a shifting creek. There’s nothing stopping you from listening to the chants of your Pikmin squad as you trot amongst towering foliage, with the sun beaming overhead, as you uncover new and yet-unexplored territories on the map. And meeting a new color of Pikmin for the first time may as well be its own reward.
You’re not adventuring for the loot. You’re looting for the adventure. And that right there is the secret brilliance of Pikmin 3.
Frankly, I’m surprised a game like this even exists. Against all odds, it’s the game I’ve more or less been asking for since I realized, “Hey, maybe focusing a game around bland, run-of-the-mill murder is pretty dumb.” This one game has given me more than plenty of other games in the past few years, almost without trying. Obviously, it’s given me a more exciting world than Destiny. But it’s given me more frightening moments than The Evil Within. It’s gotten me to care more about its cast than Infamous: Second Son. I’d bet that if it had hacking, it’d do it better than Watch Dogs -- but I suppose it’ll have to settle for being better than Watch Dogs in every other conceivable way.
I’m not so star-struck as to say that Pikmin 3 is the greatest game I’ve ever played. But taken as-is? It’s thoughtful, rewarding, enticing, surprising, and most of all fun. It’s a game that can say a few words once every hour or so and still stay full of meaning -- all while letting you dig in your heels and put your leaf-headed soldiers to work. Given all that, it’s hard for me to walk away unsatisfied. And I’m hoping that if you decide to pick it up, you’ll feel the same way.
Because, as discussed, SPACE IS AWESOME.
Disclaimer: all things considered, you can’t really call me a fan of the Dead or Alive franchise. The only one I’ve ever really played is DOA4, and while I had plenty of fun with it, I’ve since moved on to…well, pretty much every other fighting game this generation. (Though right now, I’m captivated most by Smash 4 with some Guilty Gear Xrd on the side.) I skipped out on DOA5 in its entirety, and even with the new editions that have popped up, there’s never been much of an impetus to jump in.
Still, I kept an eye on the news surrounding Last Round because of the prospect of a new playable character. Who would it be? I mean, Ultra Street Fighter 4 blew it with its hyped “fifth fighter” by just serving up Cammy clone Decapre, so surely competitor Team Ninja/Koei Tecmo wouldn’t make the same mistake, right? And the potential was limitless; rumors and theories about a fighting female pirate made the rounds, so maybe -- oh, it’s just a schoolgirl. Well, that’s still something totally fresh and interest-
I will be fair, though. No matter what form new challenger Honoka took, it was a given that she would be a fitting addition to Chesty O’Ninja and the Busty Bunch. It’s a legitimate problem that the guys behind DOA feel that the only way they’ll put food on the table is by sexualizing the crap out of all its female characters (even if they’ve “compensated” by doing the “same” to its men). But if nothing else, at least there ARE female characters. There are people in the canon who matter. People like to pretend that there’s no story, but there is, and I respect that; I want to believe in the franchise because it has the potential to do more.
I think that it’ll happen someday. But today is NOT that day.
I don’t know what Team Ninja’s financial status is right now, but I’m going to guess that they’re at least doing better than “we can’t even afford to make a game” Capcom. Team Ninja and Koei Tecmo aren’t the biggest around, of course, but I’d think that they have the resources to make someone beyond a Decapre analogue. I’m not going to play the laziness card because there’s an insane amount of work that goes into making just one fighter. On the other hand, I AM going to say that the effort was misguided -- because that’s the word of the day. But I’ll get to that.
Team Ninja teased the new fighter months in advance. They kept their cards close to the chest, and in doing so hoped to generate interest. They probably should have known that -- as per the informal golden rule -- the fruits of fan speculation are almost always going to be more interesting than the revealed product, but let’s set that aside. There are two things that are important to note. The first: that there was going to be a brand new female fighter. The second: that she was going to be the “biggest” character yet.
Pretty much everyone jumped to the conclusion that Honoka would simply have the biggest breasts (which is true, apparently), but since I’m the same guy who argued that the latest Donkey Kong game was actually an unspoken tale of a king’s quest for redemption and knowledge, I didn’t exactly rely on common sense. I thought Team Ninja was actually being sly and playing with fan expectations. I imagined that the new fighter would be large proportionally -- but mostly because she would be large physically.
I don’t know the canon in and out, but outside of the Spartan guest fighter from DOA4, the two physically largest and strongest fighters are Tina and Rachel. (Christie’s the tallest at 5’10”, so adjust your perceptions accordingly.) Imagine if Team Ninja decided to put on their best trollface and made Honoka as big as or bigger than a faux-Master Chief; logically speaking, she’d have the biggest bust by a country mile.
But the additional benefits -- a ripe opportunity, without question -- are that it’d be a chance to create a character with a more unique, if eclectic move set. Okay, sure, leave her a schoolgirl for the lulz, but keep her huge; have her rely solely on brute force so she can fling ninjas around like she’s trying to win a pillow fight. Make her slow and clumsy, but give her devastating power and range by virtue of her size. That’s interesting, if you ask me. And they didn’t have to stop there.
When a Famitsu article leaked what Honoka was really like, I was plenty disappointed -- and I can only imagine what hardcore fans felt. But there was a glimmer of hope; translated articles explained that Honoka had a secret, mysterious power. It’s par for the course when it comes to DOA, more or less, but it struck me as something with real gameplay potential.
Some forum posters joked that her power would be to make her breasts bigger mid-match (which, to be fair, WOULD make use of Last Round’s new engine), but I took it a different way again. What if she started out as a simple schoolgirl mid-match, but by making use of that power she went from sweet little girl to giant grappler? The player wouldn’t be forced to use it, but it’d be a way to technically change her stance -- and certainly her stats/parameters -- in an unusual way. How do you fight someone who can go from tiny to titanic over the course of a match? How do you play as someone who ends up as big as Marvel 3’s Sentinel? Or even Tatsunoko vs. Capcom’s Gold Lightan, if you really want to go nuts?
I guess we’ll never know. Honoka’s just a schoolgirl. And her “power”? Pretty much translates to “I have the same moves as most of the cast mashed into one move set”. And she gets to hit people with some kind of burning hand attack.
Look. I don’t care if my headcanon ended up getting dashed, because DOA as a franchise and Team Ninja as a developer know what they’re doing. They probably understand that, hey, maybe introducing some wacky new character with special mechanics in a game that’s struggling to stay relevant isn’t the best idea; maybe save that stuff for DOA6. I get it. But even so…cripes, is Honoka really the best they can come up with? Really? In a universe filled with ninjas, wrestlers, assassins, a geisha-in-training, a slew of martial artists, and a damn opera singer, they couldn’t come up with anything more exciting than a schoolgirl with a mysterious power?
Setting aside the fact that comparisons have already been drawn, what’s the strategy here? How is this character different from any of the other DOA girls? So what if she’s reportedly the bustiest when A) there’s virtually no difference in the girls’ body types, meaning the very concept of bustiness is worthless, and B) there’s not much to set her apart from other characters, DOA or otherwise, besides her measurements?
Assuming that there’s no story for Honoka in Last Round, the gameplay footage released thus far hasn’t made an argument as to why this girl is different from the other girls -- and that’s even before you factor in her patchwork quilt of a move set. Her profile sets her up as a Blood Knight, and I can’t imagine someone with explosive hand attacks avoiding some form of corruption. But watch her mannerisms in matches and art, and there’s no trace of that. She’s just a kind, earnest, hardworking schoolgirl who’s a little clumsy, but always tries to do her best…which you can use to describe a deluge of recent anime heroines.
It’s not enough anymore. I thought that Team Ninja understood that; say what you will about the hyper-sexualization of the women (which, again, is a problem that doesn’t need to be there), but at least the games had the freedom to let its ladies do more. Be more. Tina’s a wrestler hungry for fame, be it via fighting, acting, or trying to be a rock star. Leifang is a college student who perpetually sought out Bruce Lee fanboy Jann Lee to prove her strength to him -- and did, conclusively. Honoka…is just a schoolgirl that wants to fight. Oh, sure, she’ll get her story fleshed out someday, but…really? This is supposed to be a compelling argument for Last Round?
Note the word choice there. I could have said “she”, but I used “this”. Call me butthurt if you will (which is more than a little legitimate, all things considered), but Honoka just strikes me as a HUGE missed opportunity here. This was Team Ninja’s chance to do something different -- to convince everyone that they could change, however minutely. I thought that that was what they started with vanilla DOA5’s Mila, an MMA-style fighter and a push toward the “I’m a Fighter” tagline they wanted to codify once upon a time. What happened to that? Why did they back off? Why resort to hundreds of dollars’ worth of sexy costumes almost immediately after claims of turning a new leaf?
Okay, sure. There was another iteration of DOA5 that introduced the little lady Marie Rose, but that just plays to a similar set of…preferences. The franchise should be evolving by now, but I’m struggling to give it the same goodwill and benefit of the doubt I once did. I’ll concede that the gameplay is probably the best it’s ever been -- if reliant on/lambasted for button-mashing -- but DOA isn’t part of the conversation because A) it can’t decide what it wants to be, and B) it’s not doing “what it does best” very well.
The premiere franchise built on sexy, busty girls fighting has routinely failed to make its girls sexy -- just a bunch of virtual dolls that STILL have creepy soulless faces…which to the untrained eye is just the same face copy-pasted and recolored. And again, what’s the point of having the biggest bust when that’s info you’re likely only to know by word of mouth and wikis? Although according to the wiki, Honoka has a thirty-nine inch bust…while being only 4’11”. I’m not one for anatomical correctness, but I don’t think that girl’s exactly built for fighting. Or moving.
I’m 100% convinced that Team Ninja goofed with Honoka, but they’re just one group out of many whose creations have gone awry. That should be obvious by now; DOA might not be a part of the fighting game conversation, but that’s because we’re all too busy having a legitimate conversation about women in games. Frankly, I’d take it up several levels and just say we have a problem with women in fiction in general -- and the sad thing is that that isn’t breaking news. This is something we’ve all had to deal with for a while, and the fact that there are still so many struggles across the board means that we probably haven’t made as much progress as we could.
I know the score. I know the constant outcries. “We need female protagonists!” “We need strong female characters!” “We need female characters that aren’t just damsels in distress, and don’t just get stuffed into fridges!” “We need women that aren’t just sex objects!” Those are all valid complaints. Let’s face it: generally speaking, the treatment of women in fiction is bullshit. It’s not fair, and it needs to change. The common question that follows is how that change is supposed to happen, which is pretty viable…buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut I’m of a different opinion.
Maybe we don’t always need to ask how to change the poor state of affairs. Maybe we need to ask why it happens in the first place.
Let’s go back to using DOA as an example, because there’s no better whipping boy right now. It’s pretty easy to assume that the developers are -- in the worst-case scenario -- just a bunch of perverts who are convinced their job is literally just to make Las Chicas de las Pechos Grandes. If you don’t buy into that, there’s always the more reasonable conclusion that they do what they do to stay afloat; considering how many studios have shut down in the past few years AND how expensive game development can be these days, it’s hard to blame them for banking on what they know will sell (i.e. sexy costumes for every member of The Boobs McGee Experience). If nothing else, they’re at least upfront about it.
But here’s the phrase that’s worth keeping in mind for the rest of this post: “Oh, I never thought of that.” As the self-proclaimed Eternal Optimist, I don’t want to assume that Team Ninja or any other creator with botched heroines did it out of malice, or laziness, or pandering, or even just to make a quick buck. They did it because they didn’t realize that there were other options available. In DOA’s case, they considered the possibilities and chose the ones best suited for the franchise, but ended up overlooking possibilities that would have made said franchise more than just a laughing stock.
If I remember right, the first DOA -- breast physics and all -- was made as a desperation move to keep a struggling Tecmo in business. It worked, apparently, and it became a launching point for the rest of the franchise. That sexuality (or a facsimile of it) courses through its veins, but there was the potential to be more than just “boobs on boobs on boobs” that to some extent was at least touched on. Clashes between ninja bloodlines and traditions; corporations enacting world-ruining conspiracies; even beyond that, fighters striking out to make their desires a reality, and from that emerged the thematic conflict of tradition versus free will. Duty versus freedom. It’s when DOA5’s story explores that theme -- not the hokey action movie fluff -- that it’s at its strongest and most entertaining.
So DOA is in the prime position to give us something special because theoretically, it has every tool it needs. Yes, I would absolutely love it if it could offer a stronger story; I would love it if Kasumi’s DOA4 ending had anything to do with the plot or her character arc -- what with her being ostensibly the main character -- instead of just having her dream about being a singing topless mermaid. I’m not exactly asking for the moon here.
But you know what? Even if Team Ninja didn’t, and even if they wanted to keep going down Tight Trouser Alley, then they could at least mix it up a little. The only cards in their hand at this stage are “big boobs”, “less clothes”, and “more clothes, only this time they’re themed costumes”. They’ve worn out what they’re famous for, and if they want to be the kings of eroticism, they need to go back to the drawing board and figure out how to capture the essence of sexiness. I’m thankful that all the girls have different stances and fighting styles, but in a game that earns favor by dint of its bodacious bodies, why is it that their definition of “bodacious” is so bland? How do you make boobs boring?
The answer that comes to mind is that DOA tries to make the boobs -- and tangentially, the bodies attached to them -- interesting. The problem is that they should be trying to make the female form interesting. It’s a strange day indeed when a Nintendo game understands that better than a game designed to get a rise out of its players. Seriously, pay close attention to the animations of Smash 4’s female fighters, Palutena’s chief among them. You’d be surprised.
The easiest fix I can think of for DOA6 is to just add a character creator, and let players handle the sexiness on Team Ninja’s behalf. I don’t just mean loading up a fighter with your favorite attributes; I mean giving the player the chance to explore possibilities that the parent company won’t. If pro wrestler Tina can’t be rendered with a suitable tone and musculature, then let the player make a fighter that can. If sultry assassin Christie isn’t sultry enough, let the player make someone as tall, or willowy, or elegant as they can imagine.
If there can’t be a schoolgirl who wouldn’t snap in half in real life, then leave it to the player to do the heavy lifting -- up to and including full clothing options (which to be fair DOA5 offers, but that got buried by skimpy DLC outfits). After all, I was under the impression that sexiness implied a set of qualities above the norm. Putting those qualities in player hands to create the out-of-the ordinary? Not a bad idea.
Here’s the thing, though: it should never reach a point where the tools should be put in player hands -- because offering up something bodacious is what Team Ninja should have done a loooooooooooooooong time ago. And regularly. And not just with a loli girl.
Audiences trust creators with more than just their money. They trust creators to put forth the best effort possible -- to take a concept, choose the best possible options, and bring it all together for an affecting piece of art. That’s how it should be, and how it has been pretty much since art’s inception. On some level, even a bunch of goofs like Team Ninja understand that; the flashes of competence and potential are there, even if they are hidden in the valleys of the Teton Range. The problem is that maybe they haven’t considered how things could be different -- or even that things can be different. Sit them down and explain some of those possibilities, and I’d bet that at least one member would go “Oh, I never thought of that.”
They -- Team Ninja, or just creators in general, game devs or otherwise -- just do what they think is best for their creations. DOA5 could have been the game that established its ladies as more than just character outlines, but instead put most of its effort into an ersatz, limp-wristed summer blockbuster. Why? Not because they were idiots, but because that’s what they thought would win favor. Granted that’s a misguided notion in its own right, but they had good intentions. Conceptually, they weren’t wrong. It’s just that they focused on the wrong things, when the right things -- those character interactions outside of non-canon beach lounging -- slipped into the background.
Why did it happen? Why is DOA’s story at large still irrelevant? Why are the ladies still saddled with the stigma of being sex objects? Because Team Ninja didn’t go far enough; the devs didn’t use its tools effectively, because they didn’t even realize they had tools. Again, if someone would explain to them what they could do -- gameplay-wise, story-wise, whatever -- then maybe they could make something out of effectively nothing. Maybe they could realize the problem, and do better.
Let’s be real here. The pitfalls associated with that blindness to possibilities -- to making good female characters -- is an easy one to stumble into. And I know this because I’ve made a lot of the same mistakes. Probably mistakes that would even have Team Ninja laughing at me.
Well, among others.
Speaking personally, I want to be a creator someday as well -- a writer above all else. Or rather, a GOOD writer -- which means that if it seems like I’m super-butthurt over the tiniest things in video games, it’s because A) they stick out intensely to me, and B) I probe others as a means of probing myself. It’s the only way for me to learn not to make stupid mistakes and stupider decisions, because I will if left unchecked.
Once upon a time, I had a female character whose role and personality in the story could be summed up in two words: “the girlfriend”. That was it. No part, no charisma, no dynamism, no arc -- just a rung on the ladder to propel both the lead and the story to where it needed to go. She was a non-player in the events that transpired -- which extended to every other female character in that story. Not even a spread of furious editing sprees could salvage the story, which kept the ladies on the wrong side of the fence during virtually every climactic moment. It became pretty obvious that I was pretty much just polishing a turd. So I had to flush.
I’ve gotten significantly better about things since then, but in order to do that, I had to understand that I screwed up in the first place -- and by extension, how it happened at all. I can see why; the ladies didn’t get much attention because a lot of the focus and development went toward the lead. Maybe a couple of other guys if you’re feeling generous, but outside of that lead, the overall development of the cast was pretty shallow.
Only one character really got to shine or change, and while he did end up in a good place, the scope of the story was too narrow. I didn’t use the very tools that I had created, and the story suffered for it. The world was too small. The plot was too small. The conflict was too small. So inevitably, the characters -- the most important puzzle piece -- ended up being too small, too. I’m 100% convinced that it was an abject failure, and no amount of consolation will convince me of otherwise.
But that’s fine. What’s important is that I did realize that I could do more. I found ways to get the most out of my characters, and the elements surrounding them. Granted I’ve got an easier time of it than others (I’m not a dozens-strong team handling either technology more advanced than a word processor or enough money to weigh down an armored truck), but the overall lesson here is the same.
Because of that, I’d argue that there is something any of us can do, regardless of our place in the game industry and beyond: be aware that there is a problem, and we don’t have to accept it. More importantly, there need to be talks about more than just “this is a thing that is wrong and bothers me”, though that helps. Heroes stand strong, after all.
Collectively, we need to be open-minded. It’s easy to dump hate on distant creators or seemingly-faceless organizations, but it’s worth remembering that there are people at work -- people who can make mistakes, just like the rest of us. Maybe every word spoken and every post typed up won’t reach them, but they will reach others down in the depths. Those people -- scorned so often by those they trusted -- can go on to become creators themselves, and take plenty of lessons to heart.
Or, maybe those voices will end up reaching higher powers. Maybe one outcry will lead to one million. Maybe twenty years from now, people will be explaining why DOA15 is a stroke of artistic genius -- precisely because it has giant breasts. Somehow. Potentially. I don’t know anything about art.
But seriously, Team Ninja? Fix the faces, please. All of your women look like they’re dead inside.
Let me start off with a question: at what point does a topic cease to be relevant?
I only ask because time and time again, it feels like I’m jumping on the train late. By the time I come up with something substantial to say, I always end up thinking, “Man, does anybody even care at this point? Isn’t the topic played out by now?” It’s a mental block for me, whether it’s a real issue or not. So even though I consider Watch Dogs to not only be the most abysmal game of 2014, but also one of the worst games I’ve ever played, explaining as much in a timely manner seems like a fool’s errand. I can go on for thousands and thousands of words, but I’m always worried that I’m obsolete by word one.
But there’s hope. After all, there’s nothing more relevant and timeless than hating on stupid bullshit. And -- in the most brilliantest segue ever -- there’s never a bad time to bring Kamen Rider into the discussion. For comparative purposes, and not just solely to push a secret Rider agenda.
Kamen Rider as a whole may masquerade as a shill for toys and merchandise (and let’s face it, it is), but in my eyes that’s always struck me as a byproduct of a genuine attempt to tell good stories -- albeit stories married to over-the-top costumed combat. It’s little wonder, then, that there are plenty of TV Tropes regulars that seem to get into it so regularly. That’s how I got into it, at least -- and a quick search told me that Kamen Rider W was one of the more popular -- and presumably high-quality -- installments. So I watched it from start to finish ages ago.
Needless to say, I enjoyed it. It’s not my favorite in the franchise -- that honor goes to Kamen Rider OOO, which I SWEAR I’ll bring into a post someday -- it’s still great. Given the chance, I’d watch it again. But the reason I’m linking it to Watch Dogs is because I feel like there’s a lesson in there that needs to be imparted. Not a moral for impressionable minds; no, there’s a moral in there for anyone with aims to tell a story. Or just plain enjoy it.
One of the most notable things about W is that it banks HARD on the detective theme. The story, the music, the characters, the concepts -- hell, one of its most common phrases is “hard-boiled”. It helps lend the show a different air from its franchise compatriots, though that’s also helped by the setting having more of a presence in W overall. Still, what really clinches it -- and what probably helped it become a real fan favorite -- is what should typically be the deciding factor. That’s right, it’s the main character: Shotaro Hidari.
He’s the private eye of the Narumi Detective Agency, and takes on jobs for the people of Fuuto whenever they come marching up to his doorstep. The show being what it is, that usually has him getting involved with the monster of the week and resolving crimes with liberal amounts of punching. In this installment? He’s up against the Dopants, monsters born from using USB-stored data from the planet -- Gaia Memories -- that wreak havoc, commit crimes, and “fill the city with tears”. Naturally, Shotaro ain’t havin’ that, so he uses his own Gaia Memories along with the Double Driver to become Kamen Rider W. Or HALF of W, at least; he handles the left side, while his partner Philip beams his consciousness into the right so they can fight as one.
Yep, it’s that kind of show. But that’s to be expected when this is one of the first Dopants they go up against.
Thankfully, not all of them are that goofy, but…man. Somebody had pretty shit luck to draw that.
Like Fourze before it (well, Fourze came years later, but I watched W after Fourze), the successes of the show are bred from the lead and the people around him. But there’s something interesting about Shotaro that’s worth noting -- and like I said at the start, there’s a lesson shown off with him that everybody looking to make a story should take to heart.
See, when I first heard about the show on TV Tropes, I checked out the character page. I knew that W was made from two guys instead of just one, but I think I might have misread or misinterpreted something. So when I started the show in earnest a while later, I went in with the wrong expectation. I went in thinking that Shotaro would be a cool, unflappable, suave and stylish guy; meanwhile, his partner Philip would be the bright-eyed, spirited, passionate one. Imagine my surprise, then, when the reverse turns out to be true; Philip’s actually the cool one, while Shotaro is the one who’s relatively hot-blooded. I say “relatively” because there’s a facet to him that really makes the character work. And THAT’S what others need to learn from him.
Here’s the crux of Shotaro: he’s a character who tries to be cool, but is decidedly uncool. But paradoxically, his uncoolness is part of what makes him cool.
Do you know why the phrase “hard-boiled” keeps popping up in W? It’s because Shotaro keeps spamming it. In his eyes, being a hard-boiled detective is synonymous with being a Cool Guy™, so he’s done his best to style his entire persona around it. He wears the clothes. He types out the reports (and narrates to himself and the audience alike) in a detective style. He does his best to be as hard-boiled as he can. The problem is that A) he kind of sucks at it, and B) the universe would rather make him look like an idiot. Though to be fair, he does that himself more often than not.
As early as the first episode, you see the mile-wide chasm between the ideal and the reality. Shotaro does some hard-boiled narration and sets himself up as a Cool Guy™ almost as soon as the opening is done playing…but then it turns out that his Agency is facing bankruptcy, and the fact that he spends so much money on detective novels doesn’t help matters. His attempts to do something cool are thwarted on a regular basis, too. Tracking down a bus as part of a case lead? He loses it and does his best Darth Vader “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Trying to consul the daughter of his MIA mentor? She leaves long before he even finishes his cool speech. Gets an offer to protect a young starlet? Skips down the street and jumps to click his heels together.
It’d probably help Shotaro’s case if he wasn’t delusional and being some tryhard detective. But then again, I suspect that it’s a commonality for every Kamen Rider to be in sore need of a few therapy sessions.
Don’t worry, Eiji. You’ll get your post someday.
Now, all of that and more would suggest that Shotaro is some moron for an audience to laugh at (plenty of characters justifiably call him “half-boiled” instead). And in a sense, you’d be right. It really says a lot about a character when people can point out how his actions and his words don’t match. But that’s not to say that he’s some clown dancing with his pants around his ankles. This is a Kamen Rider we’re talking about, and he gets plenty of opportunities to show that.
Even if he is put-upon and rarely taken seriously and constantly undermining his attempts to be a Cool Guy™, he’s still more than capable of ruining anyone’s day -- in and out of his suit. As W’s left half, he’s the one in charge of the actual offense via his Gaia Memories; Philip acts more as support and gives W different elemental properties. That, of course, sets aside the fact that in nearly every instance W’s based on Shotaro’s body instead of Philip’s…though of course, one can take the lead as needed.
As a Rider, it’s a given that Shotaro’s a professional ass-kicker. But what I find really interesting about the character is that even if he’s a delusional goofball, he’s also one of, if not the most level-headed and emotionally mature member of the cast. He ends up learning a lesson or two in the show’s run (there’s a reason why one of the show’s songs is “Nobody’s Perfect”), but all told he’s a source of stability and strength to other characters -- incidental or otherwise. Even if the universe is constantly booting him face-first into a brick wall, his Cool Guy™ lines come in when he’s offering emotional support. Well, that, and when he actually DOES get to prove that he’s a detective for a reason.
If you’ve seen my stuff before, you should know I’ve been talking about “highs and lows” for a while now. Here’s the gist of it: in order for the beats of a story to have maximum impact, there need to be moments of joy and levity and good fortune and the like to offset (and highlight) the downturns. Likewise, defeat, sadness, misfortune and the like keep an audience on their toes, and keep the story from resting on its laurels. But if Shotaro is any indication, it’s not just a story that needs highs and lows. A character needs them, too. It’s what lends them a sense of dynamism. It makes the strengths visible as well as the flaws. It’s what makes them surprising, interesting, and in a lot of ways, human.
Which brings us back to Aiden Pearce.
Now, I’ll be fair. Aiden Pearce is probably not the only or worst example out there. But he is semi-recent, and an outstanding example. So I hope you don’t mind me piling on the hate even more than I already have.
Like I said, I consider Watch Dogs to be an absolute embarrassment of a game. It’s barely even a game; it’s just a great big package of things to do, a fraction of which are connected to a plot that has you, “the vigilante”, running errands for damn near everyone else. It would help if said vigilante was even remotely interesting, but alas. ‘Twas not meant to be.
The devs got as far as “hat and trench coat” and “magic phone” before they called it quits and went on an indefinite lunch break. Aiden’s the weak link of the game -- and while I’ll accept that maybe there are other interesting characters in the game (hopefully beyond just throwing in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo X Catwoman), it doesn’t change the fact that they have to orbit around -- and ultimately get sucked into -- a narrative black hole like Aiden. I know writing a story isn’t exactly the easiest thing in the world, but sometimes it seems like people make it infinitely harder than it needs to be.
The phrase that gets thrown around a lot (for Watch Dogs, or for less-than-airtight products in general) is “design by committee”, and that’s probably the case for the game. Admittedly, I prefer using the term “indulgent design”; instead of following the whims of a creative vision or the passion to put something before an audience, creators would rather try to earn success by deluding potential buyers. That is, rather than giving them something truly exciting -- something they didn’t even know they wanted -- indulgent design would rather have them grow fat off pandering and appeals to the basest sensibilities.
Aiden is indulgent design personified. I hate to make assumptions about the devs’ intent, but even if they had the best intentions, they botched this character hard. The big issue is that I can practically feel the notes and outlines printed all over the vigilante’s virtual skin. I can see what’s scribbled all over, and it tells me that he’s only allowed to be two things: cool and powerful. It comes off as incredibly disingenuous; instead of letting the players decide and judge Aiden as cool, it’s as if Ubisoft tried to create a self-fulfilling prophecy. “People will think Aiden is cool because we made Aiden cool.” But vicious cycles don’t always work as well as intended; there’s no guarantee that hype alone will ensure --
Let’s…let’s just move on.
It’s my understanding of Watch Dogs that Aiden is supposed to be a scarred and hurting hero (relatively speaking, given his penchant for crime -- cyber or otherwise) by virtue of his dead niece in the backstory and his sister and nephew presently in danger. Clichéd as they may be, there’s potential to be had in those relationships as long as they’re used effectively...but in Watch Dogs, Aiden’s family issues come off as a carte blanche excuse to go do whatever the hell he wants, up to and including ruining -- if not ending -- the lives of innocents who undoubtedly have families of their own.
If the intent was to have Aiden deconstructed -- to show what sort of monster it would take to commit the acts he does in Watch Dogs -- then it’s botched from the outset by giving him some innocent and flawless family he has to take care of. It turns the game into an awful revenge fantasy that completely squanders its potential. But it’s a no-win situation; if the intent was to humanize Aiden and make him sympathetic, then it flies in the face of all the murder the player might end up committing just to get to the next mission, let alone what happens in it.
You don’t play as Aiden Pearce in Watch Dogs. You play as you. More than plenty of other characters, he’s just an avatar for you to indulge in whatever your heart desires. That was probably the optimal state in terms of the game’s design, but in terms of the narrative, the gameplay undermines the story and the story undermines the gameplay. But setting aside that discussion, there are three things that we can say conclusively about Aiden. One: he’s ruthless. Two: he cares about his family. Three: he has what he needs to fulfill his mission.
Only one of those definitively counts as a unique personality trait (because I’d like to think that lots of people care about their families). So if that’s the case, then it means Aiden is in the perfect state to wreak havoc as he sees fit. He’s a character ready and waiting, speaking in narrative terms, to do harm to others. And as such, the player is ready to do the same. No need to worry about others. No need to worry about collateral damage, especially when you end up killing a dozen innocent people just to catch one person.
Just smash and kill and hack and blow up, and don’t ever bother thinking about what you’re doing. Aiden doesn’t, so why should the player? For all the lines and grey areas Aiden crosses and treads through, he’ got nothing to say about cyber-crime and privacy invasions besides “these things exist”. What’s his stance? He doesn’t care. They’re just tools for him and him alone to use.
Aiden doesn’t give a shit about anything. I’m not even wholly convinced that he cares about his family; I’d argue that he only wants to protect and save them because they’re concepts to him. Things. HIS things. Nobody touches them but him. He’s figuratively and literally out to play big brother (subtle, Ubisoft), and what little comfort he offers feels token at best when he’s willing to lie and manipulate the people around him just to get what he wants. Given his unduly selfish nature in the game, isn’t that a fitting interpretation?
It is true that being a villainous character doesn’t automatically ensure a bad character (see: Grand Theft Auto and ostensibly BioShock Infinite). But the requirement for a character, good or evil, is that they do what they do with charisma. There has to be something that appeal, not just plays to indulgences. That’s where Aiden fails. He is, undoubtedly, a character solely designed to be cool…AND NOTHING ELSE. Denying that it’s his default setting is something I’m hard-pressed to do.
The evidence is all there. He can commit crimes without impunity (until the plot says so, maybe). He’s an expert fighter and gunman, and can engage in some light parkour. He’s a whiz with technology, to the point where almost nobody can touch him. Immediately after meeting The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, the sexual tension flares up to supernova levels of intensity. (I’m hesitant to count that given how their story ends, but said ending is troubling in its own right.) He gets to play hero if he (you) wants to, and he can bust the crimes that the big dumb police force can’t. He can hack anything, and make stuff explode just ‘cause. He’s a rebel who, by completely cutting ties with society, has become more than just an outlaw; he’s earned some ultimate sense of freedom, but has the strength to affect the world at his leisure. Just because he can.
You know, for all the planning (or lack thereof) that went into Aiden, there’s a question I have to ask: did Ubisoft actually think this character was cool?
Think about what the word implies. To be cool is to be stylish. Impressive. Admirable. Enviable. Aiden Pearce is a whopping zero of those things. He’s got no style on his own, because that would mean that he’d have a personality besides “generic gravel-voiced anti-hero”. He’s not impressive, because hacking stops being impressive fifteen minutes in, and the ease of it removes any sense of perceivable reward when it happens.
He’s not admirable, because he’s a complete shitbag who’s responsible for most of the problems in his life (but damned if he acknowledges his failings). And for all those reasons and more, he’s not even close to enviable. Is he supposed to be the good guy, or the bad guy? Because it seems like the game wanted it both ways, and ended up failing on both fronts. It all leads me to believe that Aiden only tries to be -- and is designed to be -- one thing. As it so happens, that’s the one thing he can’t do. Or hack…even though that’d probably just lead to him blowing it up.
I suspect that there are some people out there who would tell me to stop stressing out so much about a character like Aiden. They’d probably say something along the lines of “So what? He’s just a power fantasy, so just shrug it off and move on.” Or “What did you expect, dude? It’s a video game. It’s all about making players feel cool.” And I only have one response to such a mindset: FUCK THAT.
First of all, not every video game has had or needs to have some ego-feeding, desperate scrapes at coolness. Second, if a character’s going to be cool, then that’s fine -- but they have to earn the right to be called cool by way of doing something worthwhile. Third, regardless of the medium we can get something more out of any given character and any given story as long as they -- and their creators -- show respect for their audiences.
It’s a strange day, indeed, when a multimillion dollar game tackling modern-day controversies and aimed at mature audiences is somehow less substantial than a toy-shilling show that managed to work in promotions for CDs.
You know, I keep talking about the endless possibilities of storytelling, and how it’s a creator’s duty to explore them as best as he or she can. And while I stand by that, there’s one thing that I suspect is going to be a common byproduct of “a job well done”: someone, somewhere is going to look at a quality release and say “man, that’s so cool”. And that’s the way it should be. The people should be the ones to decide if a product is good or not. The creator should put up the strongest effort possible, but there’s always going to be a gap. It’s in the product’s hands -- and any number of elements it has to its name.
When all’s said and done, Shotaro’s just one of those elements of Kamen Rider W. Even if he is just a fabrication -- a character written on paper, and brought to life by an actor way too eager to make funny faces -- he succeeds and becomes cool by way of being credibly cool. Like any good character, he goes beyond just being the tool of his creators. The line between “This is someone’s character” and “This is my favorite character” starts to blur. As it should.
Posts like these may be obsolete in an hour's time. But a good character will ALWAYS be relevant.
But it doesn’t for Aiden. And that’s the clincher. For all of Ubisoft’s talk of making him an “iconic” character, they forgot to make him anything more than a stand-in. And by doing so, they failed to make him cool…which means the game failed as a result. Now, far be it from me to launch an assault on the creator, because I prefer to point fingers at the offending product instead.
So with that in mind, I’ve got one more thing to say to you, Aiden Pearce.
Now, count up your sins!
Oh man. Does saying the line make me a Cool Guy™ now?
I’m pretty sure that at some point, I promised to do an in-depth look at this game -- which a couple of people apparently wanted, for some reason. (Masochism, perhaps?) I didn’t forget, of course; to make a mostly-stupid story short, let’s just say “blame Watch Dogs” and strike the record. And let’s not delay any longer. Ready for a long-ass post on Donkey Kong Country: Tropical Freeze?
I sure hope so. I can’t think of a better way to close out the year -- if only to fulfill self-ordained informal contracts. Well, that, and to erase the lingering, pus-soaked taste of this year's worst games from my mind. The best of them heal all wounds.
So here’s the setup. DK and pals -- Diddy, Dixie, and Cranky -- are all about ready to get their party in full swing (ha) complete with a banana cake-type thing. But before DK can dig in, their island is invaded by the Snowmads -- a bunch of Viking-style baddies out to seize the island for themselves. And before DK can even take the first swing, that’s exactly what they do; their boss uses his giant horn to plunge the island into a new ice age, and exile the Kongs from the Snowmads’ new home. Now DK and the gang have to take back what’s theirs -- one jump, roll, and barrel toss at a time.
You’d be forgiven for thinking that Tropical Freeze is the same game as the Wii’s DKC Returns, because they’re pretty much the same. They didn’t even bother with the GamePad, so unless you do some off-TV play, the screen will go dark. And even if the game looks better than its predecessor, it still follows the guideline spread out -- i.e. be pretty much the old DKC games, only with better graphics. Progress, right?
As is usually the case, the object of each level is to head from the start to the goal -- in this case a floating barrel -- with as many lives intact as your skills will allow. So if you want to be a little salty, you can pare Tropical Freeze right down to the basics and leave it at that. But even if I made it sound like an issue at the start, it really isn’t when you get down to it.
In the same sense that (Ultra) Street Fighter 4 isn’t the same game as (any given version of) Street Fighter 2, TF is not JUST DKC with better graphics. So really, it’s hard to heap hate on a genre as long as it’s creating a sense of progression; it’s either that, or each individual game’s execution is so high that it doesn’t make you think about the nitty-gritty. See: Guilty Gear Xrd -- because it’s poetry in motion after Hugh Jackman’s training regimen.
What I like about TF is just how involved the levels are in the experience. It’s pretty much a given that most of the dangers you’ll face come from bottomless pits, so making your jumps count is more than a little important. But the game is constantly tossing in these variations on the formula, so you have to adapt. Thunderstorms, factory machines, massive persimmons, fires, and even giant octopi are threats you’ll have to deal with along the way, complicating each leap over a bottomless pit.
But the thing about the levels is that it makes better use of spectacle than most spectacle-driven games. Example: I played a bit of The Evil Within a while back, and there was a sequence where you had to run down a hallway to escape blades of doom. The music swelled, the camera shook, the scenery was all kinds of uninviting, and…I barely felt the fear the game wanted me to. Why? It’s because all I had to do was walk down a hallway. Hardly engaging stuff. Comparatively, TF has you engaging in the platforming -- interacting with a level changing before your eyes -- while the sequence-based threat approaches you. So basically, you’re facing certain death as you face certain death.
It’s stuff like that -- and more, all things considered -- that makes the classic platformer still have worth in the modern gaming world. I’ve had more scares and heart-stopping moments in TF than in The Evil Within, The Last of Us, and Resident Evil 5 and 6 put together. I’m involved in what’s going on! I can actually die because of my lack of skill! Cool stuff is actually happening besides “run from point A to point B”! And the levels look so freakin’ good! And the music is just so NGHNNNGFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF --
It’s probably best to learn your movement options before the end of the first world. You’ve got your basic run and jump, but learning how to roll into a run -- and by extension long jump -- will seriously help you out in a pinch. Or ensure your doom, potentially. But the interesting thing about TF (and something that feeds into its fear-inspiring ability) is that DK’s movement is structured in such a way that sometimes you just barely feel like you made it onto a ledge. All things considered, it kind of makes sense; I don’t know much about gorillas, but I don’t imagine them being the most agile of creatures.
The core conceit -- the reason for DK’s less-than-mobile nature -- is because the player is supposed to make use of the other Kongs to bolster his movement, via letting one ride on his back. Think of it as a sort of Kong-gattai. Join with Diddy, and you can use his jetpack to go farther. Join with Dixie, and you can use her ponytail to go higher. Join with Cranky, and you can bounce off obstacles and enemies. Having a gattai partner certainly makes things easier on you -- because you also get a screen-clearing super move -- but the tradeoff is that if you’re not careful, you lose your extra Kong and the extra mobility it affords.
If you can hold onto a Kong, you’ve proven that you’re good enough to handle the game -- and because of it, get to progress more easily and quickly. If you can’t hold onto a Kong, then you can still make it through the game, but you’ll have to learn how to make it through levels without a crutch. The only advantage I can possibly think of that DK might have over the others is that his roll maybe goes farther. So basically, you run the risk of having one player “crippled” -- and by extension, one player constantly yammering about how DK is so bad.
But maybe that’s the point.
Far be it from me to promote antisocial behavior, but hear me out on this. Yes, TF is 100% playable and beatable with two players, so you don’t have to worry about some unfair advantage -- just the usual concerns about who’s pulling the team and who isn’t. But for a while now I’ve been thinking that there’s a disadvantage to playing every game with friends, and by extension making every game based on/around multiplayer.
Admit it: you experience things differently with friends than you do on your own. Watching Twilight by yourself? A miserable, headache-inducing experience. Watching Twilight with friends? Guaranteed to bring on the laughs. But that doesn’t make Twilight good (and by extension doesn’t make multiplayer games -- hello, Destiny -- inherently fun).
What I’m getting at here is that sometimes you need to experience certain things on your own -- without anyone or anything to color your perceptions. Think about it -- don’t you think there’s a reason why movie theaters put you in the dark, promote relative silence from the audience, and are extremely against cell phone use during the movie?
It’s because even if you are with friends/family, the setup is such that you get to engage with the movie on a solo, personal level. You get to observe its subtleties in a way you might not with a bunch of jokers. Granted, that means that the product in question has to hold up to scrutiny. And you know what? TF does.
The draw of TF comes from its levels -- the visuals, aesthetics, layout, music, what have you. (Especially the music, in a lot of cases; some of the music from the Africa-themed world will practically staple a smile to your face.) I don’t think there’s a single line of dialogue spoken outright in this game, and outside of the opening and ending cutscenes there’s little in the way of a straight narrative. If you’re looking for weight, you’ll have to fill in the story for yourself. You’ll have to make use of what the game DOES provide in order to get more out of TF than just “this is a fun game”. And I’m wholly convinced you can do that.
The thing separates TF from Super Mario 3D World is that Mario’s latest adventure pretty much requires exploration in order to advance through the game -- but paradoxically, it can feel like you’re punished for doing so. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not devaluing 3D World just because DK’s latest is in our midst. I’m just saying that the two games are out to accomplish different things, and I prefer one approach over the other. 3D World runs the risk of trivializing its worlds because the players are only looking through it to find Green Stars; couple that with a persistent timer, and you can’t digest each level -- and the world at large -- as much as you’d hope.
When you’re not being chased by an incoming threat, you get to take in TF at a more leisurely pace. You actually do get to digest it -- enjoy its elements as deeply or as superficially as you wish. Okay, sure, you’re incentivized to have a look around to find puzzle pieces, but A) that’s for unlockable art, and B) it’s not required. The KONG letters are there too, but they’re less about scouring every inch of the level and more about testing your abilities -- asking if you’ve got the skills (and the guts) to grab them in the middle of your run. There’s a difference. The line blurs at times, yes, but there is a line; TF wants you to feel the world, not just conquer it. The question is, why?
Well, let’s step back a bit. See, the thing that I can’t help but come back to again and again is the Kong-gattai mechanic. That was put in there for a reason, as antithetical it may seem to modern-day sensibilities. You have to play as DK. You aren’t guaranteed to have a buddy Kong with you to make things easier. You can -- and likely should -- take control away from Player Two so that Player One can have a slightly better time. Why? Those are some very specific design choices; they can’t possibly be an accident.
Because they aren’t.
It should come as no surprise to anyone that DK is the star of the game. Setting aside the fact that his name is in the title, he’s also the largest of the Kongs by a wide margin. The apes may have clothes, shelter, and some of the fixings of modern society (and beyond, considering that Diddy has a working jetpack), but it’s safe to assume they still operate under basic rules. The chief rule? The biggest and strongest ape gets to lead the pack. So all things considered, that means either Funky Kong is in charge, or DK is. Three guesses as to who’s the one true King of Swing.
The alternative theory I have -- absurd as it may be -- is that DK rules because he’s inherited the power from his ancestral Kong kings. To be more specific, he rules because he can’t die in a conventional sense. Sure, if he falls down a pit in the game he’ll lose a life, but what does that mean contextually? You lose a balloon and go back a few paces, and get to do it again and again until you get it right. DK may die, but he’ll just be reborn so that he can learn from his past mistakes and rectify them. In other words, being the king means being trapped in a cycle of death and rebirth -- a cruel fate, but one that bestows great knowledge to a rightful ruler. And as the saying goes…
I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t buy into my theory of DK being trapped in some metaphysical ouroboros, because even I think I’m reaching farther than Mr. Fantastic playing a game of pin the tail on the donkey. But even if there’s no direct cycle of rebirth, I’d still argue there’s a symbolic one -- or more precisely, a cycle of injustice and justice. Redemption of crimes through crimes, and justifying past crimes. In simplest terms, the rules of nature weave their way through the game, ensuring a never-ending conflict between the Kongs and any other takers in their universe.
Consider the Snowmads. At first glance, they’re just a bunch of bullies eager to muscle in on Kong territory. And while that’s more or less true, when viewed with a broader scope they’re only doing what they need to for their survival. They need food. They need shelter. They need a place to call home. And what better place to set up shop than an island brimming with resources? They have to do a little remodeling, sure, but the tradeoff is that it’s almost as simple as tooting a horn.
Jeez, is there any instrument more hilarious than the trombone?
Anyway, what’s consistently bothered me about TF -- and I suppose the other DKC games, by extension -- is this: where the hell did all the machines and vehicles come from? Seriously, there are pirate ships all over the place (and not all of them from the Snowmads, I’d bet), fruit processing plants, miles’ worth of mine cart tracks, and at least one full-on, fully-functional factory. And let’s not forget Funky sets up shop in a series of downed airplanes. So did the Kongs make all of this stuff? I’d like to say yes, but that just begs the question of why they live the way they do -- in treehouses and such -- instead of in towering, industrialized cities of their own creation.
My theory on the subject is this: the Kongs aren’t the first ones to inhabit that island, or the islands (i.e. most of the levels in TF) surrounding the main one. Rather, the chain of them collectively represents a territory fought over for generations, and occupied by different creatures/cultures. The wars of old simply left the islands mostly uninhabited, with all the machines and mechanisms left to decay, and the land itself forcibly uncultivated. Only pockets of resistance remain -- a porcupine here, a bird there -- and the Snowmads are trying to capitalize on that. They’re trying to systematically occupy all of those islands to harvest the remnants of the past -- the things that DK has forgotten are of incredible importance.
Remember how I said earlier how the only one who could have been king was either DK or Funky? Well, my theory is that Funky willingly stepped away from the throne so he could devote himself to archaeological pursuits. He’s an ape devoted to uncovering the mysteries of the past, even if that means putting him at odds with DK. (That’d probably help explain why he charges you for supplies; behind that smile lays a wellspring of resentment.) The King of Swing lives for the moment, with only the slightest care for the future. Content with a life of banana-themed cakes and eternal summer weather, he’s more than willing to let his brethren Kongs live as they see fit.
The Snowmads change all of that. The exiled king and his closest friends have to fight their way back to their stolen peak, with the fate of the other Kongs up in the air. (It’s true that there’s not enough evidence to say anything conclusive about their state of affairs; on the other hand, there’s at least one level featuring a raging avalanche, so draw your own conclusions.) They know about the resources left practically untouched by the Kongs, and are more than willing to use it in their stead; because of that, you tend to see penguins, walruses, and other wintry foes making their rounds through each level. Of course, they’re after more than just a few whirring gizmos.
It’s worth noting that there are secret exits in some of the game’s levels, marked not by a floating barrel but instead by a swirling portal of light. On top of that, there are special trinkets you can find and collect to unlock a bonus world, just in case you aren’t satisfied with the beating the game gives you on a regular basis. The important thing is that the history of these islands is multi-layered -- and below the technological layer that we can obviously spot, and below the evidence of travelers who set up shop, there’s a layer that implies some sort of precursor race.
That is, there was an ancient civilization that used a magic variant of technology to construct ruins, temples, and more. I’d bet that that’s what Funky is after, even if you never see him leave his shop(s); by extension, the Snowmads might be eager to harvest those secrets for themselves, if only for the sake of saying “Ha ha, it’s mine now!”
DK may be strong and (ostensibly) kind, but he’s still something of a slothful leader. He’s grown lax on his throne, and the Snowmad invasion has forced him to remember what it means to be a King of Swing. There’s no doubt that he’s got the power to face the future, but he doesn’t have the wisdom gained from observing the past -- from the ancient, bloody struggles of his forebears. He may have secured the island from threats past (there’s probably a reason why the recent games have to keep making new enemies, and for more than legal issues), but he has yet to learn firsthand what it means to know true hardship. That is, until the events of this game.
Even if you don’t believe in (or care about) the worldly struggles of the Kongs, there’s still plenty of weight in the implied personal struggle. Consider this: Diddy, Dixie, and Cranky have to rely on DK to see them through plenty of struggles, up to and including riding on his back. He gives them power -- via their screen-clearing attack -- and they in turn give their liege increased mobility. So on a practical level the Kongs draw strength from one another so that they can one day make it back home.
But it goes beyond that. DK is their leader, and there’s pressure on him that can’t be applied to anyone else. It’s fortunate that the four Kongs managed to stick together despite the Snowmads’ sneak attack, but they’re still an absurd distance away from home. Forced to say goodbye to everything they know and love, while contending with both the sins of the past and the threats of the present, they have no choice but to press on through dangerous territory. And you could argue that the journey’s not even worth it; the final world has the Kongs returning to a frozen DK Island, rendered nigh-unrecognizable by enough snow to fill South Dakota.
Human or ape, that doesn’t strike me as the sort of thing you just shrug off. It’d probably help my case if the Kongs didn’t universally cheer and shout “WOO-HOO!” at every opportunity, but in exchange, some of the music in the game -- in the later levels most of all -- really helps paint the direness of the situation. Still, imagine what it would be like if there was just one more cutscene in the game -- one sequence designed to establish rapport. For example, imagine the Kongs find a frozen banana after a level overflowing with traps. Think of how they might react.
Diddy tries to play it all off as a laughing matter, but you can hear how rattled he is as he tries to pal around with DK. Dixie’s more visibly shaken, and says out loud (relatively speaking) what no one else is willing to: “Do we have a home to go back to?” Cranky stays quiet and contemplative, as does DK -- the latter of the two saying that it’s time to start pressing forward, albeit curtly.
But while DK puts up a front when he’s around Diddy and Dixie, he’ll confide in Cranky between levels, or when the night sets in. I can just imagine him admitting that he’s worried, and shocked by the world of the past the group is travelling through, and (naturally) voicing his concerns about his worthiness as a king. The Snowmads’ assault has left his confidence shaken, and he’s become wary of the consequences of his actions -- or lack thereof. And Cranky, wise as he is, supports DK by telling him tales of kings past -- that merely by doubting himself and by caring about his closest friends, he’s proven himself worthy of the throne.
DK acknowledges that, and chooses to move forward even if his friends’ high hopes weigh down on him. Both he and Cranky understand that the Snowmads, and the countless other enemies out there, are eager to destroy the Kongs’ way of life -- to destroy their culture (by smashing bananas, for example) simply because they can. Because of that, DK fights on with renewed vigor to reclaim his homeland, with the potential of the past, present, and future setting his simian heart ablaze.
That’s pretty much all my headcanon -- the validity of which is pretty debatable. But even so, that’s hardly the important thing about TF. No, the important thing about it -- about any game, arguably -- is its ability to inspire that headcanon. To transcend the limits of pixels and platforms, and become something that provokes thought. Provokes discussion. Provokes theorizing. You can do that with a million worlds, a thousand, one, or even zero; what matters is that it IS possible.
It reminds me of what Sun Tzu once said: “It is best to win without fighting.” The game’s straight narrative is so bare you’d be forgiven for thinking that there’s no story at all -- but if you pay even a shred of attention to what’s going on around you, then you can make your own. You can turn off the console and walk away with something meaningful gained each time. Every time. And if games are going to get better -- if they’re going to reach their full potential as a medium -- then maybe that’s what they should be doing on a regular basis.
Maybe. Just maybe.
But seriously, those rocket barrel levels are bullshit.
So my brother picked up a copy of Assassin’s Creed: Unity on day one, because of course he did. And he asked me to play through it from start to finish, because of course he did. And I played it for no more than an hour the night of release before getting bored and frustrated and going to bed, because of course I did.
Okay, I know that’s not exactly fair to the game. I’ll give it another swing somewhere down the line, because I want to give it -- and the series at large -- a chance. But Unity hasn’t made that easy for me so far. I’ve been lucky enough to avoid some of the now-infamous glitches so far (barring getting glued to a chair for a few seconds during a chase), but so far it’s been kind of scattershot. By which I mean pretty scattershot. And, you know, not great.
The game starts with some guy using a lightning sword (huh?), and then cuts to Arno as a kid so players can putz around, and then cuts again to him as a hyper-smug Aladdin wannabe who walks around with a sword in broad daylight and can naturally do the standard parkour because…uh…is he already an assassin? Or is he just that good already? Well, whatever. I guess it’ll be explained. But what’s happened so far hasn’t clicked for me. I can say it’s not as aggressively awful as Watch Dogs, but the tradeoff is that it’s aggressively boring.
Weirdly, Unity made me think back to The Wind Waker. You start off as a sleepyhead hero in a lobster shirt, but you’re given an objective -- get a present from Grandma -- to advance the plot. You have all the time you need to do that, but until then you’re free to explore Outset Island. You can jump on rocks to get Rupees, chat it up with locals who’ll chat back (and teach you gameplay mechanics, like crawling and carrying pots), swordfight with Orca, and just plain enjoy the sights. Humble beginnings, for sure, but stronger because of it.
Compare that to Unity. You’re playing as some guy in red and white who’s suddenly tasked with chasing some other guy while there’s a big fight happening all around you. So you follow that guy and beat him, but you get stabbed by cutscene’s end. Then you flash forward to kid Arno, and you have to follow some girl and steal an apple (so a guard who I swear wasn’t there before can spot you and teach you some of the stealth mechanics). Then you get another cutscene where Arno’s dad is found dead, which would be a bit more impactful if we’d spent more than three minutes with the guy. Just a bit, though.
And then you’re adult Arno (who looks eerily similar to Jake Gyllenhaal for some reason) and have to escape from some smithy brutes. And then you have to go follow a carriage. And then you have to sneak into a manor or whatever because there’s a letter that has to be delivered right now. And then those same brutes catch up to you somehow -- setting aside the fact that they had to sneak in too, albeit through an open door -- and they fight you. And then I lament having to go through a combat sequence in an AC game while hot off the heels of Bayonetta 2. And then you escape again. And then you have to sneak into a ball.
Don’t worry. It’s about 5% more riveting than I make it out to be.
What really gets to me about Unity is that despite popping up on these spiffy new consoles, I don’t feel like the game is even trying to sell itself. Okay, sure, I’ll concede that virtua-France looks good, with all the awe-inspiring architecture and attention to detail you’d hope for, but it all rings hollow. Unless there’s a mission to be dished out, you can’t have any meaningful interaction with NPCs other than bumping into them. In all fairness you can watch them interact with each other -- a couple being lovey-dovey, for instance -- but you’re an observer and nothing more. You’re invisible to the world before you even put on the hood.
I understand that adding in Zelda-style interactions for everything and everybody would be impossible. And on top of that, I understand that games -- AC or otherwise -- are all about creating illusions, and giving the feeling of depth without actually providing it. But the illusion in Unity wore thin from the get-go. It’s a feeling I share with AC3; I broke off from following some dude to chase after a thief who stole an apple, and followed him into an alley. But when I finally made my approach, the thief stopped cold, dropped the apple, and went straight back to walking aimlessly -- just like the hundreds of NPCs lining the streets.
I just don’t get it. I can’t get a handle on the design philosophy here. Okay, I’ll give the franchise the benefit of the doubt and assume that I’m just the square peg getting mashed into its round hole. But even so, am I being crazy here? Am I really so wrong to wonder what the appeal for this franchise is? Am I really, considering how much dissent there is and how many comments express concern at best? I have issues just with that philosophy; it feels like for all the effort put into rendering these worlds, it’s all for naught because the core of the game is largely “go here and kill this guy”. And if Unity’s start is anything to go by, you could charitably add “follow this guy” or “avoid those guys”.
It seems like Unity is the straw that broke the camel’s back, but if you ask me that camel was already a shambling corpse. I mean, didn’t AC3 pretty much flay everyone’s expectations and become a black spot on a franchise noted for issues notable since AC1? I know there’s some kind of blind faith in the franchise that keeps the zombie camel trucking along, but at this stage in its life can we at large keep pardoning it? Should we? If Ubisoft is content with doling out stories of varying quality and gameplay with long-noted faults, why is it that a bug-riddled, microtransaction-pushing, embargo-abusing game is some perceived “last straw” for a franchise that saw fit to push three incrementally-changed editions of a sequel?
And so I have to ask: do we need Assassin’s Creed anymore? Because the way things are now, I say no.
I want to like this franchise. I really do. I like history, like my father before me -- and the idea of exploring fully-realized worlds leaves me chomping at the bit. But that’s the clincher; I want fully-realized worlds, not just facsimiles of them. Maybe that’s why I like the Zelda games; they’re exponentially smaller, sure, but even the decade-and-a-half-old, single-town Majora’s Mask managed to infuse a level of character into its world that you’d never expect, or even ask for.
The impending doom affected them, and they in turn affected you, while you --the hero -- went on to affect both by resolving the conflict. There was weight to be had there, even if you spent a day talking with the apologetic Anju, or a night with the postman. (Don’t think too hard about the sexual implications of that line; I know I didn’t.)
But as much as I praise Zelda, I recognize that modern games -- AC well among them -- have the potential to go WAY farther. You get to be a part of history, conceptually speaking; you get to experience life in that world, learning and understanding what it was like to be in colonial America, or revolutionary France, or whatever comes our way next. And I don’t mean having an assassin forcibly inserted into the midnight ride of Paul Revere, or being there for the signing of the Declaration of Independence; I mean making them a part of the setting. An active participant, rather than an observer.
It’s to the point where I find myself thinking, “Hey, maybe we don’t need Assassins, or Templars, or Animus, or Abstergo, or any of that. Just have the setting and be done with it.” I’m not even joking. Historical fiction is an established, viable genre, and it has been for years. It’s true that the games would lose their overarching plot and connective tissue, but sometimes I wonder if that’s really such a bad thing. Do you need assassins and ancient rivalries and conspiracy plots in history, which has more than enough exciting clashes in its own right? I say no. Cool stuff has happened in the past; you don’t need lords of stabbing and future VR to embellish what’s already interesting. If you did, then we’d all be hailing 47 Ronin as a cinematic masterpiece…which it is certainly not.
I’ll concede that (ideally) the appeal of Assassin’s Creed is the ability to chart out and execute the assassination plots of your design. I’ll also concede that combat and murder aren’t immediate failure-states in games -- because if I didn’t, I’d have to hate Bayonetta 2. And of course, I don’t have a clear-cut answer on how I’d handle conflict in a hypothetical, hyper-historical AC game of my own. I have ideas, but they’d probably only appeal to S-tier nerds (“Press X to Improve Your Social Standing”). So if you like that -- and the franchise in general -- then you’re not wrong for it. There is merit to the franchise.
That all said, I thought that the appeal of Black Flag was its ability to turn you into a pure pirate, and minimized the franchise’s conventions (the assassin storyline well among them) for the sake of making you a scourge of the seas. Likewise, I thought that Black Flag was one of the best-received games yet, if only because it eased the sting of AC3 while also being NOT about Ezio again. So what does it say about the franchise when one of the most well-received of the franchise is also one of the biggest departures from the franchise? And where do you go from there when you can’t rely on naval adventures without playing fast and loose with geography?
Maybe the guys at Penny Arcade had it right. Maybe this franchise is rudderless.
I’m not so cold as to say that Unity should be the last AC game ever. I agree with the common opinion: Ubisoft needs to stop with these yearly releases -- and yikesy mikesy, this year has two of them -- and spend time figuring out how to take the franchise to the next level. From what I can gather, Unity isn’t it; if anything, it’s a symbol of non-progression. It tells me that Ubisoft isn’t just content with staying in a rut, but letting the cement pool around its neck. That’s not a good place to be in, especially when the same company once implied that new hardware would promote innovation.
But I have to go back and ask the same question as before: do we need Assassin’s Creed anymore? Think about it: a lot of the mechanics it paved the way for, like stealth and parkour, have been co-opted by other games. Its combat can’t compete with games that have a stronger emphasis on it (the Arkham series) and/or style in spades (insert any given Platinum title here).
If you’re looking for a meaningful story with meaningful characters, you can get that from a handful of BioWare titles, at a bare minimum. Any given triple-A release is downright guaranteed to have big setpiece moments, and that cinematic appeal so often spoken so highly of. And if you’re hungry for innovation -- as we all are -- then, well, you can look virtually anywhere else. Anywhere.
The nicest thing I can say about Unity is that it looks good. And that it lets me visit Paris. And that I get to meet Napoleon at some point, I guess. But if I can replicate two of those three (maybe all three, ostensibly) just by cracking open a book or running a Google search, then maybe -- just maybe -- something has gone wrong.
Now then. Let’s see how Far Cry 4 turns out.
So everyone here knows what “serendipity” means, right?
Pared down to basics, you can think of it as a synonym for “coincidence”. In my case, though? It tends to mean that somebody beat me to the punch in making posts that steal my thunder so thoroughly that saying even a single word would make me look like a copycat -- that, or some sycophant. I know, I know, it’s probably not as bad as I’m making it out to be; still, I absolutely hate it when I match up with someone. I just have to be the premiere pretty little snowflake.
I want to put out as much content as I can, but sometimes it feels like I’m fighting against time itself. How much can I really talk about a game if its relevance falls to the wayside? I mean, I’ve wanted to toss up a post on The Last of Us here for a while, but does anyone care for something well over a year old? Alternatively, if I tossed out a post on something semi-recent like The Evil Within, what is it that would set it apart from someone who did another post on it -- and much earlier than I did? I’d be redundant, arguably. And I don’t want to be in that situation, so I try to consider my moves as carefully as possible. Think before you act, so to speak.
But this time my brother thought for me. One night he said, “You should do a series called ‘Why Do People Love Monster Hunter?’.” So I figured, why not?
Part of the reason why I do posts is to get feedback from others. I want knowledge, and ideas, and experiences, and opinions however I can get them. That’s going to help me in the long run, no doubt. After all, I’m just one person; I’ve had a finite number of run-ins with games, and there are HUGE gaps in my knowledge of titles past and present. So I need to learn more, and evolve more as a result.
I need perspectives -- the ability to understand others’ lines of reasoning. I mean, it’s one thing to say “People like Call of Duty”, but at this stage that’s not enough. Not for me. I can learn plenty from playing the game for myself and drawing my own conclusions (at the cost of suffering through the game, natch), but I need more than that. I need to ask questions as to why people like Call of Duty, or any given game, as a guideline of how to proceed. And who knows? Maybe if I ask others to explain why they like what they do, they’ll be able to better intuit the strengths and weaknesses of the games they digest. Maybe they’ll gain even more than I do.
But let’s not talk about CoD. Let’s talk about Monster Hunter -- as per my brother’s dear wishes.
Full disclosure: I’ve only played Monster Hunter for myself three times in my life. The first was a demo my brother grabbed on my presumably-melted PSP. The second was the release of Tri on the Wii. The third, and most recent, was the Ultimate version on the Wii U. As you can guess, it’s my brother who’s gotten the most mileage out of the franchise so far, to the point where (prior to the release of Mario Kart 8) it was the one Wii U game you could count on him to consistently play without complaint. He’s an ex-WoW player, after all, and as I type this I can hear him playing Final Fantasy 14; MMOs are right up his alley, for a number of reasons. But let’s assume the worst of him -- for the moment -- and say he’s just in it to get new pants.
My experience with MH was…not quite as pleasant. I started up a file in the Wii U game to try and see what the noise was all about. See the world, explore the systems, check out those monsters -- the standard stuff. Unfortunately, I didn’t get nearly as far as I wanted to -- or very far at all -- because in the tutorial section I went out and killed some baby dinosaurs instead of the parent. Then I figured I was some horrible monster taking advantage of innocent creatures and haven’t played the game since. The fact that (according to testimonies) you actually harvest the tears of monsters by beating on them doesn’t exactly leave me at ease.
Don’t get me wrong, though. Emotional trauma aside (i.e. the confirmation that I’m not the pure-hearted maiden I strive to be), I actually get the premise of MH -- and in a lot of ways, support it. I didn’t even have to play for an hour to feel the affect; it felt as if the game practically demanded me to get in touch with nature, even if it started me off in some bustling town. Okay, it’s true that plenty of games will have you go to the usual suite of “forest level, snow level, lava level”, but with MH I could feel the prospect of exploring these areas and interacting with the world on a level I haven’t gotten in a while. Barring Pikmin 3, but that’s a topic for another day.
Obviously, that’s a good thing; some of the strongest stories out there (games or otherwise) are those that can flesh out their worlds. They remember that the settings are characters in their own right -- and proceed to characterize them as best they can. I’d think that games like WoW accomplish that as well, but I can still appreciate MH’s ability to make me leave my world behind in place of its own. Untamed wilds. Frontiers aplenty. Traversing sprawling landscapes on my own two (virtual) feet. Being a part of something bigger than yourself. What’s not to love?
My guess with the franchise is that the people in it are heavily dependent on the materials gained from monsters to live their daily lives. It makes sense, really; if this is a world that takes us back to the past (or some facsimile of it), then it’s likely a society heavily dependent on natural resources on every level -- food, obviously, but clothing, shelter, craftsmanship, and more. The societal implications are staggering, and lends to a scope that’s ripe for telling plenty of potent stories.
Or maybe it really is just about getting some new pants.
I have issues with such narrow-minded thinking; it’s as if the game implies that the only thing that matters is getting loot and killing monsters -- and pushes you head-first into the hamster wheel. On the other hand, maybe that’s not so bad. It lends itself to a sense of ownership over a story…or to be more precise, it lets you make your story. It’s your adventure, allowing you to someday tell your stories of triumph as you crush down towering beasts. Or, heaven forbid, you can learn firsthand what it’s like to get ground into paste under a dragon’s heel. Either way, there’s potential there; you can have a new adventure and a new experience each time you play.
But that’s all based on my conjecture. Like I said, I don’t have a lot of experience with MH -- and given that I’m the self-proclaimed “Eternal Optimist”, I’ve probably painted the rosiest view possible of the franchise. How does it play? How’s the combat? Does it deliver on the scale, and the potential? Is there a point to making dragons cry, and unsuspecting fauna into orphans?
Uh…I’m gonna go ahead and say “probably”.
I suppose that’s where you all come in, then. What do you think of MH? If there are any diehard fans or experts reading this, what sort of nuances keep you coming back for more? Why is it, like, one of Capcom’s only breadwinners right now? And is it rightfully so? Go ahead and weigh in. Give me all your love, as the song goes.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that song was vaguely sexual. Just vaguely, though.
Whatever the case, feel free to give suggestions on what other games I can do these quick little posts on. I wouldn’t mind thinking critically -- however briefly -- on games I wouldn’t have considered otherwise. Plus, I’d like to try something different for once. Maybe find something new and different that works in terms of tossing out content. Could this be a thing? We’ll see.
In the meantime, please accept this collection of JoJo rush sounds.
Heh ha. Next you’re going to say “Man, they sure can talk fast.”