Genre: Moving On

Part of the discussion during VS Node's "Game of the Games of the Decade" episode considered representation of genre in a list of all-time great games. Most of the participants in the discussion were in agreement that all genres needn't be afforded a delegate to the round table of the elite, which led me to ponder the benefits of, and perhaps more importantly, the problems with genre as it relates to progress in the videogame industry, overall. Can individual works qualifying as pure embodiments of genre be taken together as a complete mosaic of what makes gaming what it is, or would it be better if a more free-form, experimental approach was taken instead?

Indeed, there are video games that epitomize what gamers have come to know as the basic genres in gaming; works such as Tetris, Starcraft, World of Warcraft, Super Mario 64, Double Dragon, and others all adhere firmly to the prerequisite characteristics of the genres they represent, in many cases serving as the original templates for their respective style of game, on which all to follow have been based.

Video games have a habit of borrowing heavily like this, riding on the successes of past games without innovating, and driving once-novel gameplay concepts to monotony well after others have reached the apex of refinement for a particular formula. Sometimes it is simply an act of copycatting, but I would argue that just as often, it is the fault of the genre itself, already having been epitomized by another title or titles. For example, Dante's Inferno may be a dead ripoff of God of War, but perhaps only because God of War games have become the crux of what that genre is, and in order to produce a game in that genre, a development studio can't help but essentially reskin and repaint the GoW template.

This method of producing game content may be acceptable practice for developers who wish to make quick cash, but this industry exists on two very distinct levels, the economic/business level and the artistic level, and anyone who hopes to see artistic growth in the medium would do well to quickly distance his or her concerns from its business end. Truly, the continued reimplementation of gameplay styles with limited capacity for improvement, although a benefit for the bankroll, is an exercise in artistic stagnation, and the conservative mindset of companies that practice this unfortunately carries over into an audience that becomes increasingly resistant to change.

The establishment of and adherence to genre, while allowing room to play within a tested framework, fuels this limiting cycle. By reiterating certain aspects of existing video games, it suggests that they are necessary inclusions and absolutely must be incorporated into games of that type, leading gamers to expect very rigidly defined combinations of features, and pre-conceive developers' work and what a game should be before it even reaches their living rooms. In other words, it breeds narrow-mindedness.

The modern gaming landscape should be a virtual orchard of ideas, ripe for consumption. Touching again on that dirty concept of economy, the apprehensiveness to experiment as game design branches out and genres blend together can now be assuaged thanks to distribution services such as Steam, XBLA, and PSN. Here, unique ideas can be tested with minimized risk for developers and non-prohibitive expense to gamers, encouraging the abandonment of the play-it-safe guidelines that genres can easily become. Those long-standing delineations between traditional definitions of genre are rapidly blurring in the independent games market, but mainstream gaming is sluggishly trailing in the innovation race.

Video game journalists, critics, or bloggers by any other name can become equally crippled by obsession with genre. First, it must be pointed out that these individuals who often have little more than a voice and a forum are still gamers like anyone else, and can fall victim to the comfort of familiarity just the same as the rest. The difference lies in the responsibility that comes with our positions; we must recognize the hindrance of genre and beware of the growing conservatism within our own veteran-gamer minds, then open up to untested ideas and champion those that push the envelope.

Genre can also become a crutch in a culture where everything is categorized and jargonized. By relying on old descriptive language and referring to already-encapsulated concepts, we limit the ways we can talk about video games -- an antiquated and obsolete term in itself -- and in turn discourage industry growth. If we can only describe a game as being an "FPS" or a "strategy game" or a "platformer," etc., we are constraining it to one of those pre-conceived notions of what a game of that genre "should be." If we are to use genres to label certain aspects of games that blend gameplay styles, then we somehow discredit the ambition of those titles and beat them back into conventionality. This sort of dependence on genres as descriptions also creates a barrier for less seasoned videogame enthusiasts; "game X is just like game Y and game Z, which are genre N games" doesn't say squat.

Familiarity and experience with genre is indeed important, if only to know what should be avoided, promoted, or shunned in this industry. However, clinging to genre or constantly measuring titles by what has come before are probably not good things to do if we want to see this medium reach new heights. Without categorization, labels, expectation, or prejudice, everyone involved can openly take (and even critique) each new creation as it comes -- as a step toward, not a blueprint for, what is to follow.

Punch, Kick, Slash, Cast -- Final Fight: Double Impact Review

Some classic games are best left in the past, never to be heard from again. The pair of side-scrolling action titles in Capcom's Final Fight: Double Impact are not that type of game at all; with this downloadable double pack, old-school fans will love to revisit Final Fight and Magic Sword, and newcomers will get a glimpse of early-90s awesomeness without the usual downers associated with arcade cabinets, and with some added features for the online gaming era.

The two games are represented in-game as virtual arcade cabinets, and players can either go solo, create a local or online multiplayer game, or simply drop into an existing session with a random partner. There's also an option to search for games that meet specific progress and difficulty criteria before jumping in. Along with online leaderboards, achievements/trophies, remastered music, and multiple display options to accommodate both arcade purists and HD gamers alike, these updates make Final Fight: Double Impact more than just a flashy, two-game emulator, and a viable purchase at ten dollars for PS3 and Xbox 360 owners.

No matter what the packaging, though, it really comes down to the games, and the two included here are rock solid.

Final Fight is one of the most acclaimed beat-em-up titles of all time, and a standard by which many later games in the genre have been measured. Mayor Mike Haggar's daughter is kidnapped, as required by the late-80s/early-90s beat-em-up bylaws, and he, Cody, and Guy beat the crap out of every thug in Metro City until she is safe. These three heroes cover the big-and-strong, "Arnold Schwarzenegger," small-and-quick, "Bruce Lee," and somewhere-in-the-middle, "Jean-Claude Van Damme" archetypes and each have a distinct feel about them. In fact, much of what makes Final Fight so effective is the way players can feel every punch, kick, axe handle, throw, suplex, piledriver, and of course, spinning lariat.

Even with a simple two-button control scheme, pummeling the colorful cast of lowlifes never seems to lose its appeal, but Double Impact doesn't think twice about reminding players just how difficult that can be. This is the arcade version of the game, which was obviously designed to rob kids of their hard-earned allowances. That means that the difficulty is not scaled back like in the SNES port, and players will be surrounded by mobs of knife-wielding maniacs, bull-charging fat men, and Andre the Giant lookalikes all the time, not to mention the game's six tough bosses residing in each area. Luckily, players have unlimited continues this time around, like an endless stream of quarters keeping Haggar and company fighting until the very end. Some might consider that a flaw because it removes the tension of the original arcade game, makes this reproduction far more beatable than ever before, and shortens the duration of a single playthrough. Final Fight is indeed a short game, but if replaying it hasn't gotten old in 21 years, I don't think it's going to anytime soon, especially with Double Impact's enhanced co-op component.

The other game, Magic Sword, may be less of a household name than Final Fight, but is just as enjoyable to play. This side-scroller takes place in a fantasy world where players take control of a barbarian known only as "The Brave One," and must battle to the top of the 51-floor Dragon Keep to destroy the evil Drokmar. Eight cpu-controlled allies can join The Brave One on his quest, but only after being rescued from prison cells and only one at a time. These warriors run the traditional fantasy gamut -- knight, thief, priest, wizard, amazon, ninja, etc. -- and each have unique skills and attacks specific to their class standard. Enemies are varied and plentiful, as well, including eight boss characters, although strategy generally remains the same throughout the adventure; it's straightforward hack-n-slash all the way.

The size of Magic Sword is impressive for an arcade side-scroller from 1990, and will provide players with more novel playing time than Final Fight. Even with a number of secret paths that allow The Brave One and company to bypass multiple floors at once, making it to the top will take some time, and is the most likely reason for players to employ Double Impact's option to save either game at any point. The diversity of characters and character abilities, and constantly swapping them out for one another throughout the game is a particularly captivating aspect of Magic Sword, and the lesson that treasure chests don't necessarily require keys, but will respond just as well to tempered steel is always entertaining.

The two games included in Final Fight: Double Impact are both 20 years old, but still manage to carry the same appeal as when they were first introduced. Of course the technology behind video games has advanced since 1989, so one can't expect ultimate control precision or impressively complex AI routines, but for classic arcade fun, Final Fight and Magic Sword both deliver, especially when played with a friend. A solid remake, for sure.

Carrot, Stick, Go! 2: You Can't Win This Game

"You can't win 'em all."

This popular statement is relevant in the world of gaming, but not exactly as one might think. Sure, you win some and you lose some in competitive games, but not all games are meant to be "won." Rather, many games are meant to simply be experienced from beginning to end, with little concern for concepts such as success and failure.

In the modern gaming era, fewer single-player games can be, to use archaic gamer terminology, "beaten." Video-game narratives are typically predetermined, with each possessing a natural flow from a definite beginning to a definite end. There is rarely, if ever, a final, losing state. A game would have to forbid the player from resuming after a game-over screen, or perhaps revert to the old restart-from-the-beginning game design model, in order to be truly "winnable."



These days, to "win" a game is simply to see its ending, which may or may not be a happy one. No matter what the tone of the story's outcome, though, to finish is to achieve a goal. This still does not equate to an objective "win." This achievement can be considered a "win" based on the player's personal desires and motivations, but is in no way definable as a "win" without the diametrically opposed "loss." Proof of the subjectivity inherent to this "winning by finishing" concept is the alternative situation where a player may, in fact, triumph over a bad game by turning it off in the middle and never loading it into his or her console or PC ever again. In both cases the player's desires are satisfied, but neither is a direct function of the game's content.

To say that a player can "beat" a game is to assume that the game is doing everything in its power to prevent the player from succeeding. This is rarely the case outside of specific genres or multiplayer competition, which is no longer player vs. game at all. The intention of developers is almost always for the player to at some point see the game through to its end, regardless of challenges and obstacles along the way. There is no such thing as "beating" this sort of game because the game is not the enemy, and no victory can be won over it. In essence, the player is at all times working in synergy with a piece of software that is constructed so that he or she may extract enjoyment out of it; the game and the player are partners.



Some genres do emphasize winning more than others, and as the only games that can truly be won or lost should be considered differently. These are genres such as sports, fighting, racing, and strategy. These games do have definite and permanent win and loss states that cannot be altered once they have been attained. On the other hand, once narrative structure is infused, as is the growing trend in gaming, even these genres blur the concepts of winning and finishing. "Win" is essentially limited to those pieces of software that more closely approximate traditional board games, sports, or other such competition. Most other, story- or campaign-based games lean instead toward the realm of literature, theater, and film.

This natural lack of win and loss states toward which the video-game industry is progressing calls into question the definition and labeling of the industry as a whole. The evolution of the medium has made the term "video game" a misnomer. Much of what we manipulate on the screen is not a game at all, but a means to witness the expression of the dramatic arc. The recently released Heavy Rain makes this notion all the more obvious, clearly proclaiming to be "interactive drama" and abandoning the old "game" moniker. This directed experience gives the player control throughout, changing in key ways based upon player interaction, but inevitably concludes with one of a handful of predetermined denouements, each based on a single general outcome. Someone who "plays" Heavy Rain ends up acting more as a puppeteer than as contestant, completing a story rather than winning a game.

No matter what the label, the mechanics and structure of modern video games are changing. No longer are players asked to compete with a game in order to win, but are instead presented with narratives to explore and experience. Fortunately, each individual can choose to enjoy the type of play that he or she prefers, and even without actually "winning," will come away with some measure of success.