So I'm a member of the IGDA's Writers' SIG email list. (That is, an email list for the International [Video] Game Developers Association's Special Interest Group for Writers. It's basically a forum that invades your inbox every day).
Recently, an e-debate has been raging over the validity and relevance of game journalism websites/blogs. One guy thinks they're completely pointless, inane, and badly written; another guy says this is because "The priority of a games journalist, like any other journalist, is to produce something which people want to consume. That’s the harsh reality. News is an entertainment product."
Here's where I had to chime in:
The mentality that "news is merely a form of entertainment and always has been" is not only wrong, it's dangerous on multiple levels.
First, with regard to news: Freedom of information is the single most vital, most basic element of a free society. Real, truthful news is what separates us from the Fascists and the Communists. When journalists (Fox) lose sight of this, they commit a despicable evil.
Second, with regard to art: the notion of separating what's "True" from what's "entertainment" implicitly and unfairly denigrates our profession. Knowledge and wisdom come in many forms. Creative expression is no less important than factual information. A world without art is no better off than a world without news. Both news and entertainment media are (and should be) vehicles for Truth.
The idea that art /entertainment is somehow frivolous, fluff, or a luxury commodity makes me sick. If that's your attitude, please go do something else with your life, because you'll only get in the way while the rest of us are busy creating something meaningful.
Game reviews, commentary, opinions, essays, etc. by Matt Duffy
2010-05-14
2010-05-05
Dragon Age: Origins:
Too Many Choices
I sometimes still have trouble passing myself off as a "real" gamer. I mean, I love video games, and I've been playing my whole life... but no matter how much time I spend, I never seem to get any better. Am I doing something wrong? Am I just too old and slow-witted to ever hope to have mad skillz?
Perhaps video games favor youth in the same way athletics do. Both make use of the same cognitive abilities -- reaction time, sensitivity, adaptive muscle memory, spatial reasoning, etc. So maybe I suck at video games for the same reason I've always sucked at sports in general. Well, I may always get picked last, but at least I play.
Questions of physical dexterity and hand-eye coordination aside, I also wonder if it's just a matter of evolution, and the next generation of kids (and games) is simply more intelligent than I am.
I'm currently playing Dragon Age: Origins. It's mostly fun, but also tends to drive me insane. I find I spend more time browsing through radial menus than I do actually playing the game. There are just too many choices!
Take armor, for example. In World of Warcraft, it's pretty easy to tell if a piece of armor you just picked up, or are considering buying off a merchant or the auction house, is better than what you already have. You know your character pretty well, and you know what direction you want to take him or her, and can easily estimate how much the item might be worth to you.
In Dragon Age: Origins, on the other hand, you have to manage armor sets for a whole mess of characters (I have eight right now, but the list keeps growing). You have to remember which characters can wear which types of armor. You have to know which characters would benefit the most from which increases in stats. You get a bonus for matching sets of armor, but it might not be worth it depending on the relative difference between the pieces according to the game's 7-tiered, color-coded materials system.
Furthermore, all your characters can't share items out of the inventory at the same time. You can only ever have your primary character plus three others in your party, which ends up requiring multiple party swap-outs between when you buy and sell items from a vendor and when you actually equip them. And good luck finding a vendor when you need one, and good luck getting anything from vendors that's really worth a hoot (unless you pay through the nose for it), since all the good stuff gets dropped anyways.
The whole thing is completely maddening, for me at least. There are plenty of ways the game's designers could have made this process easier: to provide some kind of best-option auto-equip feature; to have an easier gauge for comparing items against one another (or, dare I say it, fewer / less-complicated stats); to allow for some way for all characters to share the inventory simultaneously, or for easier swapping of equipment; to give players a "bank" at camp where they could store excess inventory; to organize gear according to class, and filter inventory items accordingly; to further limit the range of equippable gear with some kind of minimum, etc.
What I really want is fewer options. That statement right there probably proves I'm not a "real" RPG gamer. But maybe it's not about what I want... maybe it's too late for me. Maybe my only hope is that my children might grow up to be better at assessing all of this information; either that, or that they can figure out a way not to obsess over it, set the difficulty on "Easy", and just enjoy playing the game.
Perhaps video games favor youth in the same way athletics do. Both make use of the same cognitive abilities -- reaction time, sensitivity, adaptive muscle memory, spatial reasoning, etc. So maybe I suck at video games for the same reason I've always sucked at sports in general. Well, I may always get picked last, but at least I play.
Questions of physical dexterity and hand-eye coordination aside, I also wonder if it's just a matter of evolution, and the next generation of kids (and games) is simply more intelligent than I am.
I'm currently playing Dragon Age: Origins. It's mostly fun, but also tends to drive me insane. I find I spend more time browsing through radial menus than I do actually playing the game. There are just too many choices!Take armor, for example. In World of Warcraft, it's pretty easy to tell if a piece of armor you just picked up, or are considering buying off a merchant or the auction house, is better than what you already have. You know your character pretty well, and you know what direction you want to take him or her, and can easily estimate how much the item might be worth to you.
In Dragon Age: Origins, on the other hand, you have to manage armor sets for a whole mess of characters (I have eight right now, but the list keeps growing). You have to remember which characters can wear which types of armor. You have to know which characters would benefit the most from which increases in stats. You get a bonus for matching sets of armor, but it might not be worth it depending on the relative difference between the pieces according to the game's 7-tiered, color-coded materials system.
Furthermore, all your characters can't share items out of the inventory at the same time. You can only ever have your primary character plus three others in your party, which ends up requiring multiple party swap-outs between when you buy and sell items from a vendor and when you actually equip them. And good luck finding a vendor when you need one, and good luck getting anything from vendors that's really worth a hoot (unless you pay through the nose for it), since all the good stuff gets dropped anyways.
The whole thing is completely maddening, for me at least. There are plenty of ways the game's designers could have made this process easier: to provide some kind of best-option auto-equip feature; to have an easier gauge for comparing items against one another (or, dare I say it, fewer / less-complicated stats); to allow for some way for all characters to share the inventory simultaneously, or for easier swapping of equipment; to give players a "bank" at camp where they could store excess inventory; to organize gear according to class, and filter inventory items accordingly; to further limit the range of equippable gear with some kind of minimum, etc.
What I really want is fewer options. That statement right there probably proves I'm not a "real" RPG gamer. But maybe it's not about what I want... maybe it's too late for me. Maybe my only hope is that my children might grow up to be better at assessing all of this information; either that, or that they can figure out a way not to obsess over it, set the difficulty on "Easy", and just enjoy playing the game.
2010-04-08
On Video Game Mastery
I doubt I could really pass myself off as a true master of any game -- at least not according to Malcolm Gladwell's "10,000 Hour Rule," which states that nobody can achieve expertise in any area without logging at least 10,000 hours of practice.
Although I haven't played them in several years, Doom and its sequels have the distinction of taking up more of my lifetime minutes than any other game. Doom encourages repeat playing and pushes players to pursue mastery in several ways:
Perhaps the nature of the arcade-style format compelled designers to do a better job of motivating players to pursue mastery than modern console games, since even a moderate level of dedication on the player's (or players') part meant more total quarters being pumped into a machine. Of course, once a player gets over the "death hurdle," and is skilled enough to stay alive indefinitely, an arcade game suddenly becomes extremely unprofitable throughout the duration of that expert player's game.
One of the few games besides Doom I might claim to have have mastered was the NES port of the arcade classic Jackal.
Jackal was unique in that it offered a cooperative campaign mode, making practice sessions social events, and allowing two players to channel their shared desire to beat the game toward mutual motivation. We also seemed to be aware that Jackal had a definite ending, unlike other arcade games, which for all intents and purposes continue indefinitely, and for which "kill screens" my only be achieved by the most psychotic individuals.
Game developers seem to take it as axiomatic that a well-designed game will engage players indefinitely and at any skill level. Who wouldn't want to be part of a team that produces a timeless, popular, beloved, community-spawning game? A game for which true skill is not only possible, but so desirable and sought-after that playing and competing become an art form and the game is elevated into the pop culture canon as a de facto sport?
But is such a goal realistic? Is it profitable? Does it make a game more accessible? Is asking for that kind of dedication really fair to the player? There are plenty of great films, symphonies, novels, etc. without a fanatical fanbase; and, conversely, just because a work of art reaches cult status isn't necessarily an indication of its artistic merit.
Not to disparage the ideal, but I think the point I'm trying to make is that, while it may be a virtue for games to successfully allow for and encourage the pursuit of mastery, this should by no means be the only criterion by which games are judged. Off to hone my Halo $killZ...
Although I haven't played them in several years, Doom and its sequels have the distinction of taking up more of my lifetime minutes than any other game. Doom encourages repeat playing and pushes players to pursue mastery in several ways:
- Each of its five different difficulty settings has a cooler-sounding name. Beginners were practically heckled with the two easiest settings, "I'm Too Young To Die" and "Hey, Not Too Rough." More advanced players could settle for beating the game on "Hurt Me Plenty," or strive to do it on "Ultra-Violence." Of course, "Nightmare" was completely impossible for any but the most dedicated doomer.
- The end-level tally screen. Upon the completion of each level, players saw their total time, percentage of enemies killed, percentage of items collected and percentage of secret areas discovered. These metrics give the curious and the motivated multiple reasons to repeat levels and perhaps specialize in a particular area (like getting 100% kills, 100% secrets, etc.). The tally screen also challenged players with a "par time" for the level, which was, of course, ludicrously brief.
- When exiting the game, Doom cajoles and taunts the player for "giving up." Not necessarily a foolproof method for deterring players from their decision to go do something else, but I'm sure this must have had at least some subconscious effect.
- Perhaps the most important motivators toward mastery in Doom are the demo videos that run in the background before the player even begins a game. The demos are extensive and showcase all of the skills/techniques a player could work at -- speed, accuracy, thoroughness, map knowledge, etc. The demos prove that mastery of the game is indeed possible and achievable by a human being. Also, as a historical note, when Doom first came out, there was no YouTube, and being able to watch and study a master at work was, as such, almost completely unprecedented.
Perhaps the nature of the arcade-style format compelled designers to do a better job of motivating players to pursue mastery than modern console games, since even a moderate level of dedication on the player's (or players') part meant more total quarters being pumped into a machine. Of course, once a player gets over the "death hurdle," and is skilled enough to stay alive indefinitely, an arcade game suddenly becomes extremely unprofitable throughout the duration of that expert player's game.
One of the few games besides Doom I might claim to have have mastered was the NES port of the arcade classic Jackal.
Jackal was unique in that it offered a cooperative campaign mode, making practice sessions social events, and allowing two players to channel their shared desire to beat the game toward mutual motivation. We also seemed to be aware that Jackal had a definite ending, unlike other arcade games, which for all intents and purposes continue indefinitely, and for which "kill screens" my only be achieved by the most psychotic individuals.
Game developers seem to take it as axiomatic that a well-designed game will engage players indefinitely and at any skill level. Who wouldn't want to be part of a team that produces a timeless, popular, beloved, community-spawning game? A game for which true skill is not only possible, but so desirable and sought-after that playing and competing become an art form and the game is elevated into the pop culture canon as a de facto sport?
But is such a goal realistic? Is it profitable? Does it make a game more accessible? Is asking for that kind of dedication really fair to the player? There are plenty of great films, symphonies, novels, etc. without a fanatical fanbase; and, conversely, just because a work of art reaches cult status isn't necessarily an indication of its artistic merit.
Not to disparage the ideal, but I think the point I'm trying to make is that, while it may be a virtue for games to successfully allow for and encourage the pursuit of mastery, this should by no means be the only criterion by which games are judged. Off to hone my Halo $killZ...
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