17 September, 2013

Small Steps or Giant Leaps? The True Next Gen Battle

Now that E3 is finished for another year, the show has left us with a blur of new information regarding the coming year. There were some new Ips, some long dormant franchises are being resurrected, existing series’ are being continued, but this was no ordinary year for E3, it was a transition year. The big news from the show was a more formal detailing of the next generation consoles – Microsoft in one corner with their Xbox One, and Sony in the other with Playstation 4. While the reveals of new consoles and their software are usually an even to savor, much of the spectacle this year fell flat. People didn’t seem to be wowed by executive’s espousing the ways in which the leap from one generation to the next will transform the way we play (and experience) games. No, people seemed to find awe in the smallest of details…

Maybe the big draw for gamers moving into the next generation of consoles won’t be the amount of polygons being thrown around on screen, or even expressly the visual fidelity at which our new games are going to be rendered. Instead, maybe the big advantage of next gen hardware will lie in the ways in which they circumvent both our expectations regarding how games provide us with visual feedback, but perhaps more importantly, sidestep the technical limitations of aging hardware whose interference with our gaming immersion is so common to the core experience of playing games, that we can barely consciously register their interruptions anymore.

At this point, it would seem appropriate to mention Ubisoft’s impressive demo of ‘The Division,’ a title attached to Ubi’s long-standing and highly regarded stable of Tom Clancy games. While the game was certainly noteworthy for its ambitious blending of single-player and multi-player modes into a singular mmo experience, many journalists and gamers alike were fascinated instead with the visual cohesion of the title as opposed to the ambitiousness of its larger design. Two common moments that were commonly seized upon were a sequence when a character slides along the side of a stationary police cruiser and closes the slightly ajar door as he passes by. The second moment came a couple of minutes later when the player is faced with a variety of pick-ups, and visibly grabs, and appears to take, a bottle of water. So why then, when faced with a variety of impressive design goals are we fascinated by two cool, but seemingly inconsequential moments? The answer might be more complicated (but far less trivial) than it appears – they directly contradict the tropes of game design that we implicitly adopt to suspend our disbelief in games. Not in the stylistic or narrative content of games themselves, but the technical shorthand developers employ that stands in the way of our full immersion within the experiences they deliver us.

The Lesser of Two Evils

When Resident Evil was first unleashed upon the gaming world in 1996, few people could probably imagine the tumultuous struggle with identity into which the series would eventually descend. In many ways, Resident Evil was the quintessential product of its generation – a game whose design was very much informed by the technical limitations of Sony’s first Playstation. As the series and the hardware upon which it appears have evolved, so have the foundational elements of the series. The quality of the character models has risen significantly, fixed viewing perspectives have given way to a fully player controlled camera, and the detailed yet flat pre-rendered backgrounds have long since given way to fully three-dimensional environments. Yet despite the technological advances the series has adopted, Capcom’s design teams have become increasingly conflicted regarding just what constitutes an “authentic” Resident Evil experience, in terms of both gameplay style, and the genre within which it sits.

Anybody familiar with Resident Evil as a series will be well aware of the tropes of the older games; periods of exploration punctuated with the occasional boss fight, all leading toward the inevitable battle where the protagonist is provided with a weapon powerful enough to dispatch the end of game boss once and for all. It is an understated yet appreciable way for a game in this genre to progress, ultimately rewarding the player for being able to survive just long enough to have beaten the odds. As such, dramatic change has never really been needed, whether or not Capcom has attempted to implement it, yet change has been so rapid it has left the franchise without a discernible identity.

For some, it is the eloquent design and style of these early games (and the excellent Gamecube remake) that represent the pinnacle of what the series has to offer, both in terms of design and visual aesthetic; but for others, the fundamental changes to the control system, and the shift to third person combat popularized by Resident Evil 4 remains the defining entry in the franchise. Yet the juxtaposition of these two stages in the series’ evolution also highlight what seems to have proved the most troublesome issue for Capcom to overcome in developing Resident Evil 6. Should the franchise stay faithful to its roots, or should it expand and grow away from what has come before?

Arguably the biggest problem hampering the franchise with RE6 is its lack of oppressive atmosphere for which many of the earlier entries were famous. The most obvious manifestation of this is the continued implementation of cooperative play first introduced in Resident Evil 5. Though the Resident Evil series has always offered gamers a narrative that encompasses several primary characters, the limited nature of their interactions has allowed the series to remain focused on the player character, and their solitary explorations. However, the increasingly intrusive supporting cast members and their largely persistent presence onscreen alongside the main character (as seen in RE0, 4, 5, and now, 6) has been a largely detrimental element to the series. While cooperative play may seem to be increasingly valuable in a world of burgeoning multiplayer suites, tonally it is entirely antithetical to the style of the survival horror genre. The tangible sense of dread created by facing insurmountable odds alone is just as important to the genre as the gameplay mechanics – a fact that Capcom seems to have forgotten in their concession to the conventions of gaming modernity.

As a series which has been extremely cinematic since its earliest entries, it is unfortunate to see the horror aspects of the game eroded in such a way. The damage that an additional character causes to both the dramatic structure and the visual mise-en-scene of a survival horror game is twofold. Firstly, it can destroy the sense of loneliness within the exploration of the game world for which the series is famous. Secondly, it also lends a sense of empowerment that undermines the stressful nature of being that lone survivor trapped in a situation substantially bigger than them. It is precisely these kinds of deviation from the tropes of the survival horror genre which contribute greatly to the games conflict of identity. In the case of Resident Evil, a horror shared is a horror neutered.

This deviation from genre is not helped in the least by the numerous vehicular sections that Capcom have woven throughout the story. At best, these additions offer short breaks from the series typical gameplay, at worst, they make it difficult to suspend your disbelief in the narrative, when sequences such as these have been seen and done before, in a variety of other modern titles. While car chases, motorcycle getaways and fighter jet battles might seem appropriate in a globe-trotting viral outbreak adventure, they merely serve to further distance the game from survival horror, and plunge it into the clichés of the action genre. The levels of visual excess on display during some of these set pieces are sadly representative of the scope of mimicry present in the gaming industry at large. In a world where games like Call of Duty and Battlefield struggle for the dominant market share, it makes sense that Capcom would try to capture elements of what gamers find so appealing about the modern shooter. Unfortunately for Capcom, the irony here is that they seem unable to recognize in these other (more successful) franchises exactly what they are trying to break away from with their own series – familiarity. Most of today’s popular games have never attempted to reinvent the wheel (nor do they seem to have this intention for the future), they merely continue to grease it when necessary

I have no doubt that Capcom, with enough determination; can reclaim the survival horror crown that they so successfully forged in 1996. Unlike the awkward melding of styles on display within Resident Evil 6, the franchise’s future success will pivot on a unified vision for the series. Reduce the narrative scope, once again letting players creep through the nightmare alone, and most importantly, have confidence enough in your own product to resist reproducing elements of other popular genres. If future developers on the series can do this, then horror (and the gamers that appreciate it) might, just might, once again begin to reside in the mansion that Capcom built.

Press [A] to Start is live!

Press A to Start. What does that phrase mean to you? Maybe it represents the anticipated first step into an exciting journey? Maybe it doesn’t do much more than conjure up a variety of good memories spanning the lifetime of a beloved hobby. Maybe it represents something different altogether. To me, it represents the beginning of a dialogue – a conversation between myself, friends, and just as importantly - the digital realization of all the hard work by any given dev team. In fact, some of my most cherished gaming memories involve talking about games, just as much as playing them. But what then does the conversation revolve around? Gameplay? Sure, that’s a part of it. Narrative? That has a place too. The truth is, games can spawn any number of topics, from a variety of different perspectives.


When I set about creating Press A to Start, I was unsure where I wanted to begin – the way in which the internet has allowed bedroom journalists to self-publish their own thoughts regarding the gaming industry has provided a daunting cacophony of voices. Though in many ways, a large majority of people still tend toward the expected tropes of this field – previews, reviews, and the most antiquated element of the form – the final score (whether numeric or a ‘witty’ adjective). As such, I feel as though my own place within this space needs to be somewhat different, and I fully intend to remove as many arbitrary and stagnant elements as seem appropriate.


I have no personal interest in delivering previews of upcoming titles, as there are more reliable sites for delivering this kind of dross – which to all intents and purposes does little more than keep the wheels turning for the pre-order machine. Is it important to know about a game before it comes out? Possibly. We may have personal interest in seeing or hearing something about our favorite franchises, but beyond that the preview is redundant. It is of little relevance how it appears a game is shaping up, and of paramount importance how the finished product performs – you know, the one that sits in your hands after you buy (or rent) it.


Though my disdain of the preview is obvious at this point, I feel that the basic form of a review is still relevant. However, any reviews that I conduct will focus specifically upon my experience with the title. In looking at the state of modern gaming journalism, one of the main elements I find lacking is a sense of authenticity. To clarify, I consider authenticity in this sense to pertain to the user-end of the experience, and whether a wonderful piece of new software fulfills its obligations in relation to both its initial cost to the purchaser, and also the amount of time the specific product will likely keep someone entertained. In recent years, I have found myself on more than one occasion condemning a “professional” review for not only what it said, but perhaps more importantly, what it failed to.


In regards to the extremely antiquated ‘final score’, it is an element that I am determined to remove from my own writings. To spend as much time with a game as people like myself do, I find it tragic that the entirety of the experience which is poured upon the page can be so easily bypassed in favor of the final 8/10 or ‘AWESOME’. If people choose to frequent my page and read my work, I truly hope that they can engage with my writings, but ultimately use it solely as another viable perspective – not as the dominant one which drives their purchasing decisions. That is pressure I absolutely don’t want, and authority I do not deserve.

 
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