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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.”
Have you ever woken up one morning and thought to yourself, “Wow! I’ve been a fan of this ongoing franchise for the majority of my life! Spectacular!” Yeah. That was me not too long ago. I can’t say I hate the feeling.
So, Smash 4, huh? You know, it’s funny; if I remember right, the original Smash was pretty much a low-budget, throw-it-out-there title with little in the way of expectations. Fast-forward to the present, and not only is it THE most high-profile release for the Wii U, but it’s also the one game that could convince people to even buy Wii Us. Even though The Wonderful 101 has long since made a strong case for the console, but whatever. I’m not salty at all.
I don’t know why I would be. Smash Bros. 4, y’all!
It’s safe to say that Nintendo’s got a lot riding on the game, and thankfully, they couldn’t have bet on a better title. If the reaction and love for the 3DS version is anything to go by, we’re looking at a fourth batch of lightning in a bottle.
But I think it goes further than that. In fact, I’d say that Smash 4 is one of this generation’s most important releases yet -- if not one of gaming’s most important releases, period.
Why? Well, here’s a hint. And by “hint” I mean “blatant answer”:
For those who don’t know (and why wouldn’t you, unless you actively avoid good things?), Kamen Rider Wizard tells the tale of Haruto, a man fighting to protect the people from the Phantoms -- magical monsters out to wreak havoc and spread despair. I mean that quite literally; see, the Phantoms are born when a Gate -- a normal human who awakens to magic potential -- reach their lowest emotional points. The human dies, and in his/her place emerges a Phantom (even though said Phantom can assume that human form at will…and yes, they DO exploit the hell out of that ability).
The trick is that if a Gate doesn’t fall prey to despair, they become a wizard. As such, it’s up to Haruto -- as “the ring-bearing wizard” -- to preserve, and in a lot of cases restore, the hope of people in need of a helping hand. And so begin his donut-eating, monster-kicking, henshin-filled adventures with his partner Koyomi and the allies he meets along the way -- a mayonnaise-loving archaeologist well among them -- as he pledges himself to others as, ultimately, “the final hope”.
It’s that kind of show. But if nothing else there’s a reason why he’s got a hand for a belt buckle. Why it sings? Not so much.
What I find baffling -- and a little distressing -- is that for one reason or another, a lot of people absolutely HATE Wizard. And unless I secretly have terrible taste, I don’t see the reason for the hate. Like, people realize that the story is pretty much one giant allegory for suicide prevention, right? So you can’t exactly say it’s not complex. Given that the Phantoms are pretty much trolls and miscreants that thrive on finding out your personal information and using it to harass you, I’d say there’s something eerily relevant about the theming there, especially nowadays.
Haruto’s development isn’t so much about him becoming a better person, but about him losing control of the situation he once had a handle on -- and the desperation that guides his actions from then on. He may start out as a Cool Guy, but it’s hard to be cool when you start getting your shit kicked in on a regular basis and your little lady friend is constantly minutes away from death. And on the action front? This is a character that does his best God Hand impression and kicks a Phantom into the sun. Also, not to spoil anything, but one of the baddies is literally a serial killer -- as in, a serial killer who arguably killed less people after he turned into a monster.
I guess I see a little bit of Wizard in Nintendo. Right now, it seems like the Big N’s got a thankless job right now, and takes plenty of heat just for being around. In all fairness, some of that heat is understandable. Nintendo’s in a bad spot, but some of that comes from their missteps, assumptions, and inflexibility. There are things that they can do, and should have done long before this point (get more third party support, revive established franchises, and FOR GOD’s SAKE, PROMOTE YOUR WARES!). They’re not exactly the innocent victims here. Much like Wizard, it’s far from perfect -- but to its credit, at least the Big N doesn’t have a second Rider who’s only there as a jobber.
That all said, if there’s any company -- and console, by extension -- I’d stay loyal to in this eighth generation, it’s Nintendo. It feels like they’ve got gamers’ interests at heart. Or to be more precise, it feels like they’re one of the only ones out to make genuine, quality games -- a far cry from others trying to sell us on “experiences” that are memorable for all the wrong reasons. This past E3 proved that for all its missteps, Nintendo hasn’t quite lost its handle on what (and who) matters most. I’d sooner count on that than promises -- and delusions -- of grandeur.
Speaking personally, Nintendo’s becoming one of my heroes of the game industry -- to the point where I’m about ready to shout “Nintendo, hallelujah!”
I don’t think I’m THAT far off the mark, my biases aside. Just look at Smash 4. Just -- just look at it, will you? Sure, there’s an argument to be made that it’s just another Smash game, i.e. the Big N banking on another established name to turn a profit. And that’s true, in a lot of ways. On the other hand, it’s not as if we get a Smash game every year, or even every two years. Unless the rumors of “Smash Bros. 6” amount to anything, chances are high that we’ll have to sate ourselves with this new release for a good half-decade.
But even setting that aside -- and setting aside the fact that this praise is coming from someone who JUST proposed that games can be more than shallow entertainment -- I can’t help but feel like in this day and age, Smash 4 is something special. It should go without saying at this point, but I have to appreciate the abject refusal to abandon a decent color palette. Moreover, plenty of the screenshots on the main site haven’t just highlighted the updated graphics; they’ve highlighted what can be done with them. Time, and time, and time again Sakurai and company have offered up pictures of those faces, and their reaction to oft-insane goings-on.
I’m sincerely hoping that in the full game, you can take pictures just as delightful -- if only so my brother can have something to stock on the console besides pictures of Captain Falcon. (You’re better off not asking.)
But really, though? Smash 4 is like a digital ambassador of goodwill, offering up plenty to gamers of all kinds. Let us count the many ways.
1) The triumphant return of Mega Man to gaming. (FIGHTING TO SAVE THE WORLD!)
2) The good humor shown by the devs in virtually every trailer, highlighting the fun instead of trying to be “epic”. Well, barring the Reggie/Iwata fight.
3) The sheer amount of content right out of the box -- up to and including a cast that numbers roughly fifty strong. Those are some MAHVEL numbers right there.
4) Almost as if trying to take a dump all over Ubisoft, there are nine playable female characters -- eleven if you count the alternate versions of Villager and Robin (again, taking that steaming dump), and twelve if you assume that Jigglypuff is female. Thirteen, if you refuse to accept Marth.
5) A marriage of simple gameplay and complex nuances to please every audience without catering to or dumbing down for any of them -- accented, of course, by a slew of customizable options.
6) A genuine celebration of gaming’s history, bringing in faces old and new to honor our beloved medium -- so that even if it IS a product out for your money, it’s a product full of meaning. That shouldn’t be anything worth getting excited about, but in this day and age, it is.
7) The ability to generate excitement by its own merits (through improvements, additions, and tweaks to the formula) through a steady drip of unfiltered information, instead of cheap hype-mongering and resignation. No “You will buy this because it’s the next big thing” or “You will buy this because you will buy this” here.
8) Seriously, DID YOU LOOK AT IT? THE COLORS!
A lot of people here on Destructoid have been claiming “dibs” on certain characters, and I respect that. Speaking from experience, I refuse to touch anyone my brother mains, plays, or has played because “they have his stink on them”. Beyond that, there’s the principle; when you choose a main in a fighting game, or even someone you’re willing to add to your stable of fighters, you’re making a commitment. You’re forming a bond between you and your avatar -- someone who, however temporarily, harbors your soul.
The thing worth remembering, though, is that in a lot of cases you can’t choose someone exactly to your tastes -- that is, you can find someone who suits you in Street Fighter, but you can’t create your own world warrior (yet). You have to adapt to preset characters. Because of that, you end up seeing things their way. In their eyes. In ways you never would have thought of before. It goes beyond just being a boxer or a wrestler; whether you know it or not, you’re considering every last one of their nuances. You take away something from them, even beyond their strongest combos.
It’s the same with pretty much every character in Smash -- but for me, it’s with Palutena most of all. It’s one thing to be able to play as a female character -- and make no mistake, I’m thankful this new game has effectively quadrupled its representation -- but it takes more than just adding in ladies.
It’s about the quality of those ladies, as it is with any character. What gives them that spark? What kind of characters are they, in a fight and out of it? What can you take away from a character from a world so separate from yours? Games are capable of showing that, even without a dense narrative built into their code. And while I’ve seen plenty of titles fail to offer up anything, I’m pretty confident that Smash 4 will offer up everything I could need and more.
Playing as Peach in the other games opened my eyes to some new possibilities, no question. And while I don’t intend to drop her in the new game, I’m eager to see things from Palutena’s perspective. I haven’t played as a goddess since Okami, so I want to see -- and feel -- what it’s like to have that potential at my fingertips.
Even if there’s no dedicated story mode, I’d wager that I don’t need one. Her animations, move set, and general appearance can tell me plenty. I know enough about her from Kid Icarus (and even her announcement trailer) to think, “Yeah, this is a cool character.” She’s got style, airs, and elegance -- and even some sass -- that you don’t see all that often. Damned if I’m going to miss out on it now. And thus, I call the greatest of dibs…at least I would if someone hadn’t beaten me to the punch. So I’ll act on my contingency plan and call auxiliary dibs on Peach.
Neither of them have a shot at being mai waifu, though. My heart’s already taken.
A lot of people these days are sour over the state of games and the industry at large -- and I’m one of them. I know what games can be, but too often these days it feels like they’re refusing to even try to reach that potential because they -- and the minds behind them -- act as if they’ve got no more merit than the average bag of chips. But even before it hits store shelves, Smash 4 has proven that games can be more. They can offer more. You can have that simplicity, but you can offer up what matters most of all: a bond that goes beyond the limits of a simple disc.
It’s a game primed and ready to dispel all the cynicism and negativity swirling around us gamers -- the proof that there are games in the present and future worth believing in. It’s a willing bringer of hope, maybe even more than simple fun. And if that doesn’t make it a hero, then I don’t know what does.
And that’ll do it for now. So let’s end on a high note, shall we?
I can’t listen to that song without thinking of Christmas. Probably because Haruto saved Christmas for a bunch of orphans in one episode. It was the second greatest thing he did in the series, besides imagining himself in his Rider suit playing the piano while wearing a bow tie and top hat.
In summation, Kamen Rider -- much like Smash Bros. -- is too damn stronk. Because who else will push a secret Rider propagandist agenda, if not me?
Alternate post title: DURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRp.
All right, let’s be real here. I’m pretty sure that by this point, I’ve made no shortage of my opinions known. Some of them are easy to agree with, I hope. Others, not so much. But that’s to be expected. People are allowed to disagree with me, because they’re coming from different places. Different perspectives, experiences, and whatnot. That’s part of the reason why I do these posts -- because those differences in opinion mean something to me.
So I’ll do it once more. Let’s gab about video games for a second.
Obviously, they mean something to me. If you’re reading this, then chances are high that they mean something to you. And they mean something to a lot of other people, across no shortage of generations -- console or otherwise. It’s a young medium, sure, but it’s left its mark on peoples and cultures across the world. That ain’t bad for something that isn’t even as old as some grandparents.
The definition of a game has come into question plenty of times before, recently as well as years ago. There have been questions about whether or not it qualifies as art, whether or not it’s harmful to players, and even if it has hidden benefits (like making us better doctors, for one). There are a lot of unknowns, and even more opinions on the medium. That’s the way it should be, at least for now. Questions beget answers -- and with them, strides to try and conform to those answers.
Still, there’s one subject that’s been on my mind recently. I’m the kind of guy who can (and often does) see things as they should be, and not always as they are. That’s problematic at times, but the tradeoff is that I have ideas as well as ideals. And that extends to something as seemingly-unimportant as video games. I know what they have been in the past, and because of that, I know what they can be. And that’s what I want them to be, from here on.
Each generation should be better than the last. I hope we can agree on that, at least.
There’s a current of thought among some gamers that suggests that “games are here just for fun”. And in some ways, I agree with that. It’s a section of the entertainment industry, so that’s only natural. And besides, it’s not all that different from any other medium. We watch movies for fun. We read books for fun. Even something as simple as looking at a pretty picture can be fun. So if there are any outsiders looking in reading this, I’ll be the first to confirm that pressing buttons and spinning sticks is a lot more exciting than you’d expect.
But if you’ll let me speak personally (as if you have a choice), I think there’s something important to keep in mind. Yes, games are here to entertain us; the question that follows is HOW do they entertain us? In the past, games could largely only accomplish that through its mechanics -- gameplay, and the difficulty that followed, and the layouts of levels, and so on. But once you get a taste of what they can do, it’s hard to go back to just a black-and-white picture of the medium.
So I’ll be frank. I think video games are for more than just “having fun”. Sure, they can do that, and quite well -- oh my God the wait for Smash Bros. 4 is unbearable -- but they can offer more. Think of it this way: why is reading a book fun? All you’re doing is sitting down and flipping through pages, right? It’s more like work than anything else to get through it. But what’s important is the content. The ideas. There’s stuff in there designed to engage you, and get you thinking in a way that a good piece of art should. As you’d expect.
Now, am I saying that every video game needs a compelling story to be good? No. It certainly wouldn’t hurt (and WOULD help matters, in a lot of cases), but it’s not a requirement. You don’t think about turning the pages of a book; you think about the content, and get engaged in it as you process its particulars. It’s the same thing with games. You don’t think about doing DPs or powerslides; you engage with the game because your input directly determines the output. If the mechanics are working as they should, then they can make a case for a game in the absence of some riveting tale.
That in mind, video games are trying -- however desperately -- to be more than just a chance to get high scores and top honors. (Well, some of them, at least.) The Tomb Raider reboot could have just dumped Lara Croft in the wilderness without a story to go by, but it did its best to give a reason to care about its leading heroine -- a narrative from start to finish. Given what’s come out before and after it, I’d say that games are trying to be more. Developers recognize that they can do more than just make arenas and stages.
But that’s the keyword. They can.
The medium’s taken some real strides, but it needs to take more. It needs to get out of this rut -- this perception that games are just murder simulators and power fantasies and whatnot. As others have argued, it can do that by taking on bigger themes. Bigger ideas. It can work those elements into the story and gameplay alike, with a decent level of subtlety or as overtly as reason will allow. If a game can, then it just becomes that much more engaging, and thus higher-quality. If it can’t, then it offers fleeting, surface-level thrills at best -- and sometimes not even that.
So on top of being an incredible racing game, Mario Kart 8 -- continuing the theoretical groundwork laid by Mario 3D World -- is arguably a story about the continuing industrialization of the Mushroom Kingdom, given a shot in the arm by Rosalina’s descent and subsequent offering of new technology; alternatively, it’s a metacommentary about the evolution of Nintendo and its struggle to evolve in (and even keep up with) an increasingly-mercantile industry.
And Donkey Kong Country: Tropical Freeze can be enjoyed as either a top-notch platformer, or as the harrowing tale of a leader forced to bear the sins of his ancestors as he leads his family home, or as a means to take basic gameplay conventions and make statements on karmic retribution and rebirth. Xenoblade Chronicles might as well be renamed The Arms Race That Heads to its Not-Quite Logical Conclusion.
Those in-depth readings -- or reaching -- aren’t necessary to enjoy the games. But they do enhance them. And they -- the gameplay, above all else -- enhance us in kind. As it should.
So basically, I’d say that video games are for three different things, each one on different levels of thought. The first and shallowest is that they’re here to entertain us -- to give a chance to be someone else, and do something incredible. Fair enough. But after that, they’re here to engage us -- to draw us in with their myriad factors, and make us hang on every pixel. And last, they’re here to enrich us. Once we process the information, we come to our own conclusions, and walk away with something gained each time we set the pad down. That’s my theory, at least. And unreasonable as it may be, I hope that’s what games do from here on out.
But that’s just my opinion. And in the end, this is about you. So feel free to weigh in. Offer me some perspective -- and offer it for yourself in kind. Just give the best answer you can to the question at hand: what are video games for? What do you expect from them each time you sit down and play? Are they the best they can be right now? If so, why? If not, then why not? What should they do from here on out? What do you want most of all?
You know what’s next, right? Get those fingers nice and limber. Ready? Set…comment!
And that’s my cue to get out of here. I need to try and come up with some cockamamie theories about Pac-Man.
Oh GOD I NEED SOME WII U SMASH IN MY BODY RIGHT NOW. Palutena confirmed for sick goddess combos. (By which I mean my usual stable of sneaky survivalist tactics.)