Where I Stand: Far From Censorship

In recent years, the issue of censorship and regulation of videogames has been one of great concern. It affects not only to the members of the videogame industry and the gaming community, but any defenders of liberty and freedom across the country. Now that may sound a bit dramatic, but it is essentially the case.

I was playing Manhunt 2 earlier this week - the Wii version. (On a side note, I thought the gesture-based controls were masterfully...uh...executed, but I have to admit that I felt a bit criminal, or at least mildly sadistic, while performing the actions) What bothered me more than the icky feelings i had while performing kills, though, was the fact that the game has been so heavily modified (CENSORED) from its original form. You've probably already read/heard/seen, but the executions in the game are almost completely obfuscated. I couldn't tell what was even happening half the time.

That brings me to the point of this bundle of text - how do we stop the censorship, and what, if any, good can legislation do for the state of gaming? Where I have been leaning is toward the advocacy of certain limitations. Now before you start your cries of "heresy!" and "traitor!" please understand that these would only be in order to expand the freedoms of developers and to open up entirely new realms of creativity in which they could express themselves.

The way it works now is that each game (well, game footage) is sent to the ESRB and rated. This ratings board, mind you, is made up of "...a wide range of backgrounds, races, and ages and have no ties to the interactive entertainment industry. Raters include retired school principals, parents, professionals, and other individuals from all walks of life." That's not exactly a jury of one's peers. If the content is deemed "too offensive" by these outsiders, then it is altered for release. It has been effectively censored.

So why would game makers tone down their games? Because manufacturers such as Nintendo and Sony won't release an "Adults Only" game on any of their consoles. Why won't they release those kinds of games? Public outcry and bad press. If there were rules in place beyond the voluntary ESRB ratings board that would take the blame off of anyone in the industry itself, then it would be much more likely that those companies would allow a wider range of content to be played on their hardware.

What I would propose is that all games be rated, and left as-is. I would also propose that console manufacturers allow games of all ratings to be released for their respective platforms. Finally - and this is the interesting part - I would propose that regulatory bodies enforce *ONLY* that the software be sold to the proper audiences - the audiences for which they were intended. That way, all content originally crafted as part of the interactive experience could actually find its way into the final retail box, sans censorship. Many of these so-called "games" (we know how I feel about that term) are made for adults, and we want them...uncut. This is not Romper Room, and censorship is just a gross misquote of the works' creators.

With movies, there is a similar system in place. Movies are rated by the MPAA, and then the viewing of those movies is restricted to the age group that the rating calls for. Nobody tries to censor films or get them taken out of theaters, because kids aren't allowed to watch them. It's not a perfect system, and certainly has its loopholes, but at least it stops the mommy police from crying.

As for music, the RIAA (another internal ratings board) plants the famous "PARENTAL ADVISORY" sticker on the front of albums that contain objectionable lyrics. Retailers then keep these reserved for their adult patrons. Again, little crying.

So if the ESRB was called the VGAA, would things be different? Would their ratings somehow be more valid in the eyes of the government? As things stand right now, the videogame industry gets no respect. Laws implemented in the current state of affairs would really only be slapped on top of all the media hogwash, and no progress could be made. If everyone would work together, however, the industry could use the government's desire for regulations to set up a fully-integrated system, ultimately benefiting the creative landscape of videogame design as we know it.

Heck, they might even become a legitimate art form in the public eye...

One Cup RPG, One Cup Hogwarts -- Mana Khemia: Alchemists Of Al-Revis Review

Alchemy is a popular subject in the realm of fiction, and in particular, videogames. The developers of the Atelier Iris series, Gust, have dabbled in alchemy for some time now, and in Mana Khemia: Alchemists of Al-Revis they further explore the theme, bringing it to the forefront and deeply incorporating it into just about every aspect of the game.

In Mana Khemia, players take control of a group of students at the Al-Revis Alchemy Academy, who are working to better their craft. The main character (and resident orphan), Vayne, is also searching for answers to the questions of his past. They all must work together to complete class assignments and make it through each school semester.

The semesters all play out very similarly. You begin by watching a story segment, then go to sign up for the first week's class, attend the class, and complete an assignment. One or two more are class weeks just like the first, but with different assignments. These usually consist of killing a monster, collecting an item, or synthesizing one of your own, and are always focused on a particular aspect of gameplay.

You then have a free week or two, assuming you earned good enough grades on your assignments. Free time can be spent completing jobs for people around campus, synthesizing items, venturing off campus to gather ingredients and fight with baddies, or just skipping it all by resting at the dorm. You can also do special side quests related to your party members if you take the opportunity to chat with them. If you fail to score high enough during the semester's courses, you will lose your free time and be forced to take more difficult and time-consuming make-up classes. That sucks for you.

A major drawback to the school setting is that it makes the game lack any real sense of adventure. The academy acts as a central hub, with other areas radiating out from it, and gameplay will always return to these areas instead of consistently continuing forward. Being locked into a schedule of events makes the game experience feel very routine after a while. The game's story also suffers the same fate, and is restricted in the amount of expansion it can undergo.

As I mentioned earlier, alchemy plays a major role in Mana Khemia, meaning that there is an incredible amount of item synthesis in this game. The multitude of ingredients the player obtains (either by purchasing them on campus or gathering them off campus) can be combined in many different ways to form new items, which can then be used to create even more advanced ones. This alchemy system appears to be an effort to provide depth and individuality, but somehow it seems that depth has been confused with complexity and tedium - both of which Mana Khemia provides.

A task as simple as character growth (leveling) may require that a player first engage in enough combat to earn the requisite AP to advance, then synthesize the proper item to unlock nodes in the "grow chart," and then distribute the AP to receive upgrades. That sounds simple enough, but in order to synthesize those required items, the player will have to acquire its recipe, attempt to synthesize it, discover that some necessary ingredients are missing, then either search for those or gather other ingredients to create them, and finally produce the item for the grow chart. In case you couldn't tell from that description, this can take many trips back and forth between areas, and can waste a lot of time engaging in what can only be labeled "gameplay" using the most liberal definitions of the word.

With so much item synthesis going on, it makes sense that there are a variety of ways to alter the final product. It is possible to substitute ingredients to add new properties, or even create brand new recipes on the fly. You can also enlist the help of the other party members to add effects to your creations. When you complete the initial synthesis of an item, a party member will occasionally suggest a new recipe. In the end, however, the whole synthesis procedure feels like just the same old routine.

One part of the game that works quite nicely is the combat system. First of all, enemies are always visible as players navigate each area, and you can decide whether or not to engage in combat. A preemptive strike can be achieved by slashing at the monster, while bumping into it inadvertently will result in a loss of initiative. The color and relative size of these representative monsters indicate how difficult the combat will be. Very weak foes can be defeated instantly by launching a preemptive strike.

Combat is resolved via typical turn-based, menu-based action, plus Mana Khemia's "support" system. During any attack, the player can press the square button to perform a tag-team attack with one of the party members waiting in the wings (assuming the entire party is larger than the default 3). Similarly, a supporting party member can be called upon to defend against any opponent's attack. After the support action, the assisting character remains a part of the front line while the original combatant goes to recharge in the support ranks. Using the support row effectively can become quite a strategic affair in tougher battles. Finally, the game's "burst system" is essentially a gauge that the player fills during combat in order to unleash more powerful attacks upon the enemy.

Overall, Mana Khemia is the type of game that will appeal to a niche audience; fans of the Atelier Iris series will feel right at home from the moment they pick up the controller and die-hard jrpg fans will get into the game's complex alchemy system. For the rest, the game's weak storyline and lack of truly captivating gameplay elements will both act as deterrents. Synthesizing items feels cumbersome, and much of the game can make a player feel like a robot on a treadmill. If Mana Khemia is for you, then you probably already know it.

Gamers Anonymous: Addictive Games

How is it that certain games can become addictive, while others seem to simply run their course before tapering off into that void of content that we feel has been satisfactorily exhausted? There has to be some key factor(s) in the distinction between addictive and non-addictive videogames (but still fun ones, because who really wants to play a game that isn't? Well, actually...hmmm...I'll come back to that later.)

I got to thinking about this while playing Professor Layton and the Curious Village, which I feel is a solid game with nothing revolutionary or "must-have" about it - but that is still enjoyable...and addictive. Now why does a simple game full of brain-exercises compel us to keep playing fervently for hours?

Achievement.

The game gives us a brand new sense of achievement at very frequent intervals. Every time a puzzle is solved, the human mind has completed a conquest, and feels pretty damn good about itself. A little shot of dopamine, and you've got yourself a natural high. Professor Layton and the Curious Village does an EXCELLENT job of sustaining that high.

You love Xbox 360 achievements, right? If you said no, stop lying...everyone loves achievements. There are people out there who play games solely for the purpose of unlocking those little nuggets of "I did it!"

Well, achievements work on the same basic premise as I described before. Each micro-victory acts as new incentive for the player to continue, in hopes (conscious or subliminal) that there are more successes to be had in the future. The ones that are more tangible and practical (meaning something other than "take 10,000 steps in this area," or "fall from the corner of a building while crocheting a pillowcase and whistling 'Oh! Susanna.'") are more likely to produce that sort of feeling, because they result from obvious causality. "I did that, so I earned this," is the simple conditional here.

Frequency, as I mentioned earlier, is also important. Knowing that the next reward for your actions is right around the corner keeps you motivated to continue what you are doing. If too much time should pass between those reinforcements, you become more prone to fatigue, and more likely to discontinue play.

The funny thing about this process is that, contrary to what you may think, it doesn't even have to be fun in all cases! I'm sure most of us can recall a time when we were completely absorbed in a videogame, making steady progress, meeting goal after goal after goal, and then suddenly realized that it was no longer fun. Sometimes the response to success can even overshadow the basic responses to actual pleasure...and displeasure. Know any workaholics? Well, there it is.

Anyway, there you have a very basic view of what is going on when you just can't...stop...playing. I don't claim to be a professional on the subject, but I do call it like I see it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to my puzz-- I mean, uh, daily... exercise... and stuff.

Puzzling -- Professor Layton And The Curious Village Review

"Would you like to read my review of Professor Layton and the Curious Village for the Nintendo DS? Well then to prove your interest, you'll have to solve this puzzle for me..."

Had we somehow slipped into the realm of the DS and the curious village of St. Mystere, things would have undoubtedly continued along that path until I had you scribbling on maps, rearranging matchsticks, and doing my little brother's math homework. Clearly, that hasn't happened - because I don't have a little brother.

What I did have for a while, though, was an addiction. Professor Layton and the Curious Village (which will henceforth be written as PLCV, to save me time and effort) is like crack for the brainy gamer, and if it's something you can sink your teeth into, you're going to feel compelled to play it any chance you get. "Just one more puzzle..." is the mindset you'll probably adopt - and we all know how that goes.

PLCV is basically a point-and-click adventure game whose entire library of puzzles reads like a Mensa Mind Teasers book. The Professor and his sidekick Luke are called upon to solve the mystery of the recently deceased Baron's hidden golden apple, and soon find themselves jumping from one plot device to the next, eventually arriving at the game's final resolution.

Clearly, the story isn't the reason to play PLCV, although the solid voice acting and colorful, animated visual presentation certainly don't act as deterrents. The game is about the puzzles. Mystere's apparently peaceful community is entirely comprised of puzzle-obsessed (and certifiably insane) individuals who never hesitate to drag you right along into their dementia, and actually force it upon you if you hope to make any progress.

These brain-teasers are fun to complete, and quickly transform from a bother into a mild obsession. You'll soon find yourself seeking out all of the optional puzzles that lie hidden in candles, chandeliers, clocks, and empty bottles in addition to those required to advance the story. You may even forget the story exists in the midst of your spree.

The questions range in difficulty from insultingly simplistic to head-scratchingly abstruse, and are worth point values that are meant to roughly correspond. The scale doesn't always seem correct, however, with some 20-point puzzles requiring more thought than the 50-pointers. If you're ever stumped, "hint coins" hidden throughout the town are exchangeable for up to three clues per puzzle. You're likely to have a truckload of these by the end of the game, though, because for the most part the puzzles aren't quite tough enough to warrant their use.

So what happens when the game is over? You will already know the answers to all of the puzzles, making a second play-through completely pointless. Do you just put the game on the shelf or sell it to your local used games shop? In theory, no, because Nintendo has promised to deliver weekly puzzles over their Wi-Fi Connection for everyone who might find themselves in that situation. Unfortunately, the last update was just about two weeks ago, so I am inclined to question the reliability of that plan - but we shall see how it pans out.

All in all, Professor Layton and the Curious Village is a very enjoyable little game. It may be easy to poke fun at the concept of a town full of puzzle-junkies, but there is really very little to complain about in terms of raw game design and playability. It offers perfectly bite-sized gameplay, and is a wonderful alternative to using illegal psychotropic substances. Try it - you may very well get hooked.

Unda Da Sea -- Endless Ocean Review

Endless Ocean for the Nintendo Wii is the type of game that is likely to have just two groups of critics. There will be those who fall in love with the game's sense of freedom, open-endedness, relaxing pace, and relative absence of objectives and rewards, and those who come away saying, "well, what the heck is the point?" - using varying levels of vulgarity.

The point of Endless Ocean is basically just...to chill out. This is a game about jumping on a sailboat and cruising out over blue waters, diving into the depths of the ocean and observing nature's beauty. It's really the videogame version of what one might wish for while they are shackled to the daily rat race of a 40-hour work week in a climate that more closely resembles the Arctic than the Pacific. One option even invites players to lay back in a lounge chair on the ship's deck and just "gaze at the ocean."

Most of your time with Endless Ocean will be spent underwater, navigating rock and coral formations while interacting with the various forms of sea life. You will also be able to go topside, where you can interact with your ship-mate, choose a new dive location, change equipment, examine the treasures you've discovered on the sea floor, make an album of the photos you've taken, read up and learn a few facts about the creatures you've encountered, and even train a few dolphin friends. E-mails that arrive via the ship's PDA serve as a gentle guide, suggesting new dive locations, alerting you to specific submarine events, requesting that you host one-on-one dive sessions, or asking for a few snapshots of certain fish. In the end, though, the choice of whether or not to make use of them is entirely up to you.

The freedom and simplicity of Endless Ocean also extends to its very manageable one-handed control scheme. Swimming is as easy as holding the B button and pointing in the direction you'd like to swim. You can touch and pet fish (which is pretty ridiculous, if you ask me) using the A button, and the item and options menus are accessed with the D-pad. There is very little to remember here.

As you explore, you will notice that the undersea vistas range from completely drab to arguably breathtaking, although one has to wonder why the technical end of the game's visuals wasn't improved beyond its current state. Even on the Wii, things could certainly be sharper, more detailed, and just plain better-looking. Zooming in on things provides a clearer picture, but the discrepancy between the zoomed and un-zoomed views seems a bit drastic. For a game that is almost 100 percent about the sensory experience, one would think that top-notch graphics would be a priority. As it stands, Endless Ocean does very well with art direction, but the joy of the dive is somewhat dampened by the unrefined graphics tech.

As for aural pleasures, the soundtrack is comprised of soft tunes selected to fit the game's low-key atmosphere. These few tracks work for a while, but soon become played out. You're bound to wish for the ability to pop in your own music to swim to, which the game so kindly allows you to do. Any mp3 files loaded via the Wii's SD slot are available as background music, although the game will only play one song (on repeat) at a time, rather than shuffling through the contents of the card. In my personal experience, I opted for some classical piano, which kinda made me feel like I was being sung a lullaby while getting a back rub and foot massage all at once. I guess I got the point, but I would have really liked it if changing tracks wasn't a manual affair.

That's about all there is to Endless Ocean. It is a sandbox, or more appropriately, a water-box experience. For what it set outs to accomplish, it is a definitely a success. If you are the kind of person who needs clearly defined, objective-based gameplay, stay as far away from Endless Ocean as is possible, but if you are looking for a bit of a break from standard fare, you might like to give it a try.

Survival Of The Creepiest -- Penumbra: Black Plague Review

After having the chance to preview Penumbra: Black Plague, I was eager to dive deeper into the dark, Lovecraft-like tale and to play more with the pervasive physics-based game engine. After completing the game in its entirety, I must say it not only met my expectations, but far exceeded them. Penumbra: Black Plague is a phenomenal, one-of-a-kind videogame experience that should not be passed up.

Now that I've given my verdict in the very first paragraph of the review, I might as well work my way back and describe what the game is all about. Black Plague is a first-person horror adventure that operates in real-time. This is not your typical Myst clone...and it is not an fps.

Players interact with the environment almost entirely using the game's physics engine. Searching through dark rooms and corridors is as simple as mousing over objects and manipulating them as if your hand is actually penetrating the computer screen. Clicking on something takes hold of it, and dragging the mouse moves the object in 3D space. A drawer, for example, is opened not by simply clicking on it, but by "pulling" it out. Doors are similarly pushed or pulled open and closed.

Interactions become far more complex as the game wears on, of course, as untethered objects' abilities to be freely rotated and moved about create all kinds of possibilities. Creativity, inventiveness, and resourcefulness play a large role in Black Plague's puzzle-solving, while the game manages to avoid the ridiculous and impractical item usage so commonly seen in the adventure genre. Think Half-Life 2 -style physics-based puzzles, but more involved.

So Black Plaque manages to outshine even the great Half-Life 2 with its physics, but how does the game actually play? Well, it's a mixture of slow, careful, I'm-too-scared-to-look-around-this-next- corner sort of exploration and high-tension, holy-s***-what-the-f***-is-that-and-how-do-I-get-further- away-from-it-really-fast sort of gameplay. Oh, and did I mention there's no combat?

That's right, throughout the entire game, the protagonist does not physically engage in a single test of gladiatorial skill. This game is about survival - escaping/evading those who might do you harm. It makes for a far more frightening experience when you know that any enemy you encounter CAN AND WILL KILL YOU if you can't outrun or outsmart it. Just for the record, I'd be scared of these guys even if I had a pair of Uzis.

Without giving too much away, the baddies are an other-worldly race of collectively conscious creatures who have overrun a research facility in Greenland. The truth behind it all is revealed over the course of the game in one of the best plots I've encountered in quite some time. The many notes and computer files discovered throughout the derelict facility serve to further the player's knowledge, while the many interactions with a few key characters improve their understanding of the entire situation.

Possibly the greatest achievement of Black Plague is in its writing. The script never fails to both entertain and enthrall the player, and the game's final, overarching message is profound and well-delivered. I was truly impressed.

I have contemplated whether Penumbra: Black Plague is too esoteric of a videogame to score among the cream of the crop, because I'm not sure it will resonate with as much clarity for everyone else as it did for me. However, it's universally clear that when a game combines a compelling plot, great acting, innovative gameplay, and tremendous atmosphere all in one package (a $19.99 package, mind you), it can be described as nothing short of outstanding.

Well, that's what Penumbra: Black Plague is...outstanding.

Save Me! (Without Save Points)

I came into this week thinking that by today (or maybe Saturday), I would have written a column about love in videogames. It's a topic I've been meaning to address for some time now, and this seemed as good a time as any to finally get the show on the road.

Then I realized that yesterday was Valentine's Day, and although I'm all for love and romance, I am not into being told when to publish articles pertaining to a particular topic. Holidays tend to do that to people, as one can quickly surmise after noting the multiple "videogame romance" features that have undoubtedly found their way onto the internet this week.

No, I actually HATE being told what to do, and I hate being told WHEN to do it. That's why after sitting down to play Resident Evil: Umbrella Chronicles this afternoon, there was little question as to what today's column would bemoan. Capcom's latest "ZOMBIES-COMIN'-UP-THE-HELL-RIGHT-NOW!" -fest reminded me of a gameplay element that is simply not my style. That is, designated "save points."

If you've ever played a survival horror game, an RPG, or any of a number of other games, then you know the drill:

1. Developer designates a specific area where saving one's progress may take place, leaving the rest of the virtual world devoid of any game-saving apparatuses.
2. Gamer plays the game, and eventually has a desire to preserve his/her progress.
3. Player wastes time and energy wandering around in search of developer's saving doohickey, just to feel secure about moving forward.

That's the basic gist of the system, which is occasionally jazzed up to seem more functional, or cleverly masked to be discretely hidden from the spotlight. In either case, it is still an outdated and non-optimal way to record game data.

The Resident Evil franchise is notorious for using a rather draconian version of this lovely type of saving system, where players are required not only to be in the right place, but to carry the proper item used for saving. The Silent Hill series adopted a similar, though less cruel method, and many JRPGs now feature some sort of glowing crystal or futuristic DDR pad that must be activated in order to get anything written to your console's hard drive (or memory card).

The term "save points," to clarify, doesn't necessarily mean physical locations within a game world, so long as they are readily accessible. The major problem arises when a player is only allowed to save at a specific point in time. Often, the two go hand-in-hand, however, because that span of time happens to coincide directly with the trek required to reach the location of the next save point. In a linear sort of game (which comes rife with plenty of other criticisms, of course), the problem is exacerbated. Strung along from one save point to the next, players can be left feeling utterly helpless and completely in the dark. That's the way the content is supposed to make us feel, not the shoddy game design!

The point is, you can't save the game when you want to save the game, and that's a problem. People (no matter how much we may want to) do not live inside of our videogame worlds. There are other obligations we all have, and plenty of time constraints on most of our lives. Should something urgent ever arise during a game session, the answer is not as simple as, "ok, just let me find a save point before I quit." Sometimes the game loses that coin toss, the console gets turned off, and there goes an hour of your life. Of course the machine could be left on, but power surges, outages, and other interruptions are not exactly a gamer's best friend. Besides, why does the player need to create solutions for a problem that the developer should have remedied in the first place?

Further, and more importantly, the "save point" system has profound effects on the concepts of failure and consequences in videogames. When a player is doomed to repeat great spans of success before getting the opportunity to correct the singular failure that initiated that deja-vu-like cycle, the seamless videogame experience that gamers live for is destroyed. Re-trial of the task is spaced so far apart from the original failure that improvement in that area can only be minimal, in many cases. These situations promote reoccurring failure, rather than growth and progress. This can even drive players away from a game completely. Frequent saves (at the player's will), on the other hand, allow for the more frequent repetition of ONLY the failed challenge. Rehearsal such as this lends itself to greater chances for success, and curb the player's likelihood to feel discouraged and give up.

Some might argue that designated save points are important for certain genres, such as survival horror. In these games, they serve to increase the suspense and tension the player feels while exploring the game world. Clearly, that's a bulls*** defense of the gameplay mechanic, because the sort of fear alluded to in an argument such as that is a direct result of the way the game has been built, not the material from which it has been crafted. Like I said before, it is the game's content that should torment us, not its poor design.

Deja Vu -- Twisted Metal: Head On - Extra Twisted Edition Review

Sometimes, a gamer just needs to jump in a car strapped with all manner of weaponry, then drive around blowing the crap out of everything else on the road - or off. The Twisted Metal series has always given players the opportunity to do just that.

Twisted Metal: Head On: Extra Twisted Edition for the PS2 is an updated port of the 2005 PSP game, with bonus content thrown in to persuade us all to forget that it is nearly three years old, originated on a handheld, and suddenly has no online play.

It's the bevy of extras that sets Extra Twisted Edition apart from the original Head On, acting as a sort of a gift package for fans of the series. Included is a developer commentary, videos cut from the original Twisted Metal, and the beginnings of an on-foot mode that was planned for the design of Twisted Metal: Black 2. What's more is that the game includes Twisted Metal: Lost, which is a collection of arenas originally created for that cancelled project, and is set up like an entirely separate game on the same disc.

Other than the bonus content and some minor tweaks, not much has changed since Head On's first appearance. The game follows the formula set forth by Twisted Metal 1, 2, & Black, where the malevolent Calypso holds a Tournament to decide...well, nothing. He just wants to see the combatants kill each other, then screw over the winner by granting them a twisted version of whatever it is they wish for as their prize.

In Story Mode, players choose from over a dozen cars, each with their own unique attributes and special attacks, then battle it out in a sequence of matches against multiple opponents. These take place at various arenas located all over the world. There is also Endurance Mode, where players must survive as long as they can against a steady flow of individual opponents, and Challenge Mode, which is basically a custom game where the player chooses his or her opponents and the arena they will do battle in.

In all cases, the battlefield is littered with various different types of ammo, which all seems to run out way too quickly in the heat of battle. It's not uncommon to have blasted an opponent with everything you've got, only to be forced to abandon your prey so you can re-arm yourself. Luckily, weapons respawn as if they've been injected with some sort of growth hormone between game sessions, so one rarely has to drive too far in a state of utter defenselessness.

The whole experience is quite enjoyable, especially if some friends stop by for a few rounds of multiplayer action (which is sadly limited to two players at a time). It evokes a surprisingly nostalgic feeling for those of us who have a history of driving the streets late at night carrying rocket launchers and wearing clown costumes - makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

When it's all said and done, though, I get a strange sensation, like I've just been wasting time. It's as if I should've been playing this game while riding a bus or waiting on line at the supermarket. Then it hits me - I'm playing a PSP game. From the low-end visuals that lack significant detail or aesthetic value to the average and unexciting audio to the loose controls shared by every car (although slightly improved), the game shows it's age and it's origin. Head On is a three year-old PSP game...

...but it's a fun PSP game, and only costs 20 bucks. If car combat is your thing, you might just want to pick it up.

An Adolescent Industry: Refining The Medium

The videogame industry is in it's adolescence, struggling to form an identity, to fit in, and to be accepted. I'm sure you've read something along those lines before, but it seems that the number of people who preach in favor of, and really work towards its growth are in the minority.

This is a difficult environment for us, the writers to operate in. We are always at risk of becoming disjointed and out of touch with our audience, because as we grow, our tastes mature. We become more mature, and in some cases, "jaded." Our experience shows itself, sometimes manipulating our words to cater only to those who are in the same late-stage fan-dom as ourselves. Are our tastes 'cultured'? Do we want more from our industry? Are we more ready for the next stage of development than others?

You see, as this industry is indeed very new, so too are entire WAVES of fans. They are already of a younger generation, with some different opinions about what really makes games. This means that our audience may not match our experience, and in some cases, our level of maturity (not just general maturity, but a refinement of taste, molded by experience) as we look at the products of the industry.

This is especially true of the online community (maybe even some of you reading this right now, but please don't take offense. I respect every one of you for your dedication, and the fact that you're even reading this). An older crowd - even as young as their mid-twenties - may not frequent online videogame publications with the same verve as the generally worry-free teenager. That could mean a full decade between some writers and some readers.

Will those writers who (at times) wish to very seriously discuss the things they are passionate about have to wait for the audience to catch up, in terms of maturity and experience? Many journalists have been playing videogames for 20 years now, and have witnessed, firsthand, the evolution of the industry. To put that in perspective, the PlayStation 2 era began just 7 years ago - about a third of that time.

So, I have been throwing around the word "mature," which is likely to turn some people off. I don't intend to say that a lack of maturity is a strike against someone, but that those individuals are still developing - developing their tastes and opinions. A fruit grows ripe with time, as does a gamer's outlook on the industry.

(Unfortunately, the "mature" rating of the ESRB has twisted the apparent meaning of the word, but that's not necessarily their fault, and is also a topic for a different discussion.)

Back to the relevant stuff: Take the movie business; It has been around for a long time - dating back to the mid to late 1800s. This is 2008. So about a century-and-a-half later, we want our medium to be on the same page as its predecessor? Of course it doesn't help, that the general public wants to constantly pigeonhole videogames as "kids toys." (That's where my proposal to rename these things comes into play.)

We, as writers (the "old-timers") can sometimes be like that overbearing father figure who pushes his eight-year old to be a competitive, flame-armed quarterback, practicing for the "big game" (which, incidentally, comes a decade later, or never at all) when all the kid wants to do is go play with his friends. I don't EVER want to be that guy, and I feel that our job as writers, journalists, etc. is to gently but firmly guide the industry in the right direction, and possibly help to enlighten some of our newest converts to some of the ideals of our community.

Videogames have the potential to surpass other forms of entertainment (movies) in every way. We are on our way, too. Believe that. We are just in our adolescence, and the transition requires a bit of time and effort.

Tangible Scares -- Penumbra: Black Plague Review

I recently got the chance to sit down and try my hand at publisher Paradox Interactive's first-person horror adventure game, Penumbra: Black Plague. The little time that I had with the game definitely sparked my interest in getting my hands on a full retail copy of the game when it is released next week.

Black Plague is the sequel to last year's Penumbra: Overture, which was the first project undertaken by Swedish developer Frictional Games. That particular title was originally developed as a tech demo, and as noted in Kyle's review, may have been a little rough around the edges as a result.

Things seem to have been cleaned up a bit in Black Plague, though, in terms of visuals, gameplay, and storytelling. The developers also claim a longer adventure, which was a common target for complaints about the first episode.

So what is this game? Well, it is what one might get if they took a classic adventure game set somewhere inside H.P. Lovecraft's head and put it in the shoes of an FPS in real-time, then added a robust physics engine and stuck a Wii-mote inside of your computer's mouse. In other words, it's a fairly unique experience.

The big draw of Black Plague is that everything is done with the physics engine. To search a room, you grab and pull and swing and twist various boxes and drawers and doors and levers with a click-and-drag mouse action. This is meant to immerse the player in the game world, making their actions correspond more directly to the protagonist's. The developers want the player's real hand represented in the game's virtual space. Heck, even combat appears to be accomplished by swinging your mouse back and forth to bludgeon enemies.

Combat is not the focus here, however. This game is an adventure at its core, and survival is usually dependant on one's ability to avoid conflict. There is even a stealth system that rewards players for getting into the shadows (granting better vision) and punishes them for looking at their predators (possibly alerting them to your presence). The aim in this game is to solve puzzles in unique and intuitive ways using the game engine, and to let the story unfold before you - without peeing your pants.

Like I said earlier, I look forward to playing Penumbra: Black Plague in it's entirety, and should have plenty more to say about it next week. The game will be released on February 12th, and will be available for download at Gamersgate.com for the bargain price of $19.99.

...And A Bottle Of Rum -- Pirates Of The Burning Sea Review

Ever since the release of the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie, high seas plundering has become all the rage. Much to the chagrin of ninjas everywhere, the swashbuckling scoundrels have invaded American pop culture like never before. Heck, there are at least 3 major Facebook applications related to them.

With Flying Labs Software's Pirates of the Burning Sea (PBS for the purposes of this review, and for the retention of my sanity), the motley bunch have taken the leap into MMORPG territory, and the results are fairly impressive. In a world full of me-too fantasy-themed level grinds, this game really shines as something unique, not only in terms of subject matter, but also in its gameplay and design.

In the beginning, PBS is much like your typical MMORPG; you pick one of four "careers," each with different strengths and weaknesses, as well as one of four national alignments. Then you customize the gender and appearance of your captain (though many end up looking very similar to one another), and off you go.

Players will still find themselves carrying out menial tasks for various locals in the early goings, as they become familiar with the mechanics of the game world, but soon the depth and complexity of the game reveals itself, and you just start to 'get it.'

At some point, my own Captain Bloodwater began to question why he would be taking orders from just about everyone who happened to have exclamation marks floating over their heads, doing their bidding for a few carrots here and there. Once I stopped accepting anything but those quests involving good old-fashion pillaging and plundering (and the quests that advanced the story), I found that the game's pace quickened and became more interesting and enjoyable. Ditching any sort of grind certainly makes the game world more inviting.

Adding to the early problems with PBS is the fact that its learning curve is about as steep as the back of a Uhaul truck, so a few gamers will likely be turned right off before getting to the real meat of the game. That main course happens to be a deep economic system, complete with land-purchasing, construction, inter-colonial trade, alliances, and large-scale conflicts that are entirely player-originated. PBS is very much about world-building, besides just playing around inside of one.

Within that world, the main focus for many players will likely be on questing and naval combat (including plenty of PvP). Quests are unfortunately not as varied as one might hope, and often induce a deja vu -like sense of reality. Ship combat...is fun. It is also very simple to jump into, yet complex enough to allow for plenty of different degrees of mastery. Players learn a load of skills as they gain levels, granting new abilities for use during battles. Couple that with the many types of canons, ammunition, and other ship enhancements, and the game winds up with a wide variety of possible combat strategies.

My personal favorite course of action is to batter the ship, raking it of its crew, and then board, cutting down the enemy captain in vicious hand-to-hand combat. The only problem with that is the cumbersome nature of swashbuckling. By comparison, this is far less refined that other parts of PBS.

The user interface, too, is somewhat awkward, especially the quest and map windows. When many quests are in queue, finding specific ones is a bother. It would be nice if there was a column displaying the location (island name) of the next goal. That would also allow players to organize by island, and easily cover everything they have to do in a given location. As for the map, it seems to be the sort that a heavily inebriated magical cartographer would create in his spare time to dish out to unassuming newbies on April fool's day. It jumps around and zooms as if possessed, and is hell to manipulate and navigate by. And don't get me started on the trips between islands, because I may have to leave this review to prepare a full seven course meal... just like I did while waiting to arrive at many of my in-game destinations. ZzZzZz...

PBS's production values are not terribly impressive, leaving me generally unaffected by whatever I could see or hear at any given moment. The seascapes can be pretty, thanks to the sky and water reflections, but the water itself is repetitive, plain, and somewhat ugly, and the music and sound effects throughout the game are quite repetitive. On the technical side, the seamless windowed mode is very stable, and great for multitasking.

Pirates of the Burning Sea does some things right, and some things wrong. It features a depth of gameplay not often found in typical MMOs, and while its steep learning curve may turn off a few gamers early on, eventually things fall into place and one gets the hang of things. Ship combat gets better and better, players can get into a sort of questing groove, and working to influence the shape of the virtual world becomes highly engaging. The incentive to play and grow as a character jumps way up, and you have a winner on your hands.

Just kill whoever made the map.