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Archive for July, 2009

Call me crazy, but I've been playing Flower, Sun, and Rain on my DS while traveling for the last few days. Let me be clear: this is not a good game. Or maybe I should say it's not a successful game. It's an interesting game, to be sure, and well worth playing if you're crazy like me; but I can't dispute the dismissive critical response it received. Among the Metacritic nuggets of negativity: "muddled," "a patience-trying acquired taste," "much too confusing to enjoy," "painfully tedious" and "Proof that not even bona fide geniuses like Suda51 get it right every time."

I take issue, however, with Worth Playing's contention that "There is absolutely no reason to buy, rent or even think twice about this game." I say Flower, Sun, and Rain is certainly worth your time…but only if, like me, you're willing to accept the idea that Goichi Suda (aka Suda 51) is an artist whose oeuvre merits critical attention. In my view, the former undertaker with a scatological bent and a dozen writer/director credits under his belt is an artist under any definition of the term we can apply. He has amassed a body of work with clear evidence of thematic and stylistic continuity. All that's required to appreciate it is taking the time to look.

We rarely consider game designers in this way. I realize the collaborative nature of game development makes it difficult to assign authorship to a single person, but for over a decade Suda's vision has been the primary creative force behind Grasshopper Manufacture. His games bear an unmistakable stylistic signature and a near-compulsive preoccupation with certain themes. What's more, we can trace the trajectory of his work from early drafts and sketches to later, more mature work where seeds planted earlier finally bear fruit.

As I've noted in the past, I consider No More Heroes a game of surpassing quality – a rare example of coherent audacity in a medium defined by conformity. If you happen to share my admiration for that game – or if you simply enjoy tracing an artist's maturation through his work – you will greatly enhance your understanding and appreciation of No More Heroes by tracing its roots. Obvious gameplay differences aside, nearly everything Suda tried to
accomplish in that game can be found seven years earlier in Flower,
Sun, and Rain.

FSR wasn't Suda's first game (he wrote and/or directed three previous titles), but it's the game that clearly functions as the turning point in his career; the game where Suda found his voice. Like the games that followed, FSR is a sonic and low-res visual barrage of mod art, pop culture, and oblique narrative, with Suda peeking from behind the fourth wall to laugh at his own jokes. When the game makes you do mundane tasks, its hero Sumio Mondo wonders aloud why anyone would put up with such a game.

Suda's fingerprints are all over this game. Lucha Libre makes its first appearance in FSR as "El Crasher." Action movie titles (often skewed) are referenced throughout the game. Quirky stylish cutscenes serve little purpose aside from establishing the hero's detached coolness. Suda's fondness for featuring long narrow roads and passages; lean and lanky men, character intros as set pieces; motels as featured locales; twisted-comic enigmatic villains; punk/modernist subculture elements, and a general predilection for ambiguity – all appear prominently in FSR, as they do in Killer 7, No More Heroes (and its forthcoming sequel), and to a somewhat lesser extent Samurai Champloo: Sidetracked.

But as we've seen with other artists, early experiments often fail, and FSR is full of such missteps. It's as if the artist knows which tools he wants to use, but hasn't yet figured out the form his piece should take. LIke Seurat's preliminary sketches for Sunday on La Grande Jatte (seen above), tone and subjects are present, but he hasn't yet found his composition or signature brushstroke.

In FSR, Suda's style is forming, but he's trapped in a self-limiting mystery adventure genre that doesn't suit him. As an interactive experience – as a game – Flower, Sun, and Rain is drudgery; a repetitive and unrewarding series of puzzle challenges that even Suda himself seems uninterested in developing. But as an experience, FSR is vintage deconstructed Brechtian 'punk's not dead' Suda. It will try your patience, but Suda delivers enough gems along the way to make the journey worth taking.

Watching an artist discovering his voice can be an illuminating and even rewarding process. If such a thing appeals to you – and especially if you're a fan of Suda 51's work -  it's quite possible you'll find your trip to the Flower, Sun, and Rain Hotel well worth the bumpy ride.

Note: review excerpts are for the DS version of Flower, Sun, and Rain, a faithful remake of the PS2 original.

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Grandma’s life is finally resembling something others call "normal." She has completed cardiac therapy, which is another way of saying Medicare won’t pay for it anymore. They gave her a certificate reminiscent of the "Pleasure to have in class" awards teachers give to elementary school students which we threatened to hang on the refrigerator. "You hang that shit up there and I swear to god
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I'm currently working on an essay devoted to Little King's Story. Back in May I posted an early appreciation of the game and, even as I draft it, I know the piece I'm writing now won't be the last. I'm talking the game up on Twitter and Facebook. I even bought a copy for a friend. Suddenly, I'm a Little King's Story evangelist.

Why the big interest? An obvious reason is that I admire LKS, and I think it deserves more than a cursory glance. Our storybook king may be a pint-sized monarch, but he's surrounded by a big beautiful game that glimmers with style.

But it's more than that. I like the game, and I want you to like it too. I want to make sure you don't overlook LKS or avoid playing it for the wrong reasons. I want you to give it a chance. I want you to play it and take your time with it. I want you to know that if you don't play this game, you're missing something special.

Without meaning to, I find myself personally invested in this game, and that makes me a little nervous. Where's my critical distance? At what point does my blog pulpit beseeching cross the line to become fanboy shilling for XSEED Games? Credibility is hard won in these parts; I don't want to squander whatever I've got by over-hyping a game that, frankly, few gamers are likely to play.

I've thought about these questions, and I've decided to roll the dice on credibility because I earnestly believe in Little King's Story. I'll try to explain precisely why very soon. A more interesting question has arisen in my mind, and it's one I've been thinking about since I first played LKS in May: What is it about this game that provokes in me such unequivocal zeal, and why should it matter to me whether anyone else cares about it?

I can think of several reasons, and the first has to do with love. Little King's Story feels like a game that's been lavished with love by its creators. This is very hard to explain, because so much of what I'm describing is conveyed to the player sensually: the soft and fluid watercolor visuals; the kooky chalkboard lessons; the hand-drawn maps; the whimsical character designs and animations; and the dark sardonic thread that weaves its way through the game's storybook fabric.

These and many other little touches suggest that developers Cing and Town Factory devoted significant creative energy and loving craftsmanship to LKS, unifying gameplay, art direction and narrative, and doing so in an utterly distinctive fashion. No other game looks, plays, or feels like LIttle King's Story. Of course I love this game. I was seduced.

Furthermore, rooting for LKS means rooting for an underdog. Let's face it, this game has an uphill climb. It appeared this week with little fanfare, limited marketing, and scant online hype. It's a deep, huge, and surprisingly tough game (you can dial the difficulty up or down) with a potentially big crossover audience of RTS, RPG, adventure, and simulation gamers – not to mention it's a Wii game families can play together. None of this will matter because few in these groups know this game is for them. The box art makes LKS look like a kids game; it's a third-party Wii game; it's a brand new IP. And the batter is out on strikes.

And so, like Charlie Brown's sad little Christmas tree, this game needs me. I can champion LKS and maybe even make a small difference. From a strictly ego point of view, I'm sure that's a big factor. I'm on a mission to let people know about this game because it feels fantastic when someone says, "I played this game on your recommendation and loved it!" Of course, not everyone will like it, and I always feel awful when someone spends hard-earned money on a game I recommend, and then hates it. Once again, I'm rolling the dice, hoping most players will enjoy LKS as much as I do.

Finally, I'm in the pulpit for LKS because I want developers and publishers to know that when they take a risk or go the extra mile, we notice and we appreciate it. I realize this can be seen as a token gesture; what really talks is unit sales. But I'm idealistic enough to believe we're developing a culture that increasingly values dialogue between designers/developers and the community, and games criticism can play a vital role in helping frame that conversation, particularly for games that blur genre boundaries as LKS does.

At this year's GDC I spoke with a representative from Grasshopper Manufacture who told me that we (critics, reviewers, bloggers, journalists) made the difference with No More Heroes. Our enthusiastic response helped it gain traction and raised its profile among other developers. I think the same could be said for Braid, Flower, and several other games that flourished in the critical spotlight. Ours may be a small role in the grand scheme of things, but when we encounter a game that jolts us, seduces us, or even inspires in us a bit of love, how can we not respond? How can we not preach a little?

Have you ever felt the need to champion a game? If so, I'd love to hear about it.

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As we all know, video games rot our brains and make us weak and lazy. It's summer, Bunky (for us northern hemisphere dwellers anyway)! Get off that sofa and exercise. Or read a book. Better yet, read a book about the fabulous active toys you played before you became a doughy gamer – before sofas, consoles, and gamepads lured you into their quaggy vacuous vortex.

And I've got the book for you. The Wham-O Super-Book. I discovered it last week at, of all places, the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. After hours of blissfully exploring Picasso, Pollock, and Penck we hit the bookstore for a quick peek. I was tired and hungry and ready to leave…until this mad wonderful opus stopped me in my tracks.

When I was growing up, Wham-O made the best toys in the business: The Superball, Hula-Hoop, Slip n Slide, Frisbee, Hacky-Sack, Silly String, and my personal favorite: Super Elastic Bubble Plastic. This book showcases all of Wham-O's great toys, including the positively weird stuff, like the Chain Gang Drinking Coasters and the Patio Style Bomb Fallout Shelter Cover. I'm not making that last one up.

Released last year to celebrate the 60th anniversary of the company, the Wham-O Super-Book is chock-full of colorful photographs chronicling each toy (including packaging), and it features dozens of vintage print ads and other marketing materials all bearing Wham-O's signature style. As a visual archive of a truly original American toy company (started by a couple of childhood friends out of a garage in 1948), it's an invaluable resource and a retro feast.

So do yourself a favor. Get off that sofa, buy this book, return to your sofa, read it and enjoy!

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You should play Bunni here

Two small announcements: 

• Bunni: How we first met is now in public beta. There’s still a bunch of work left to do. Right now we are stabilizing so that we can turn on the more interesting monetization and distribution features without creating an angry mob. 
• I will be at Casual Connect in Seattle on Tuesday and Wednesday. I’ll be attending talks, but if you want to meet up, drop me a note at danc@lostgarden.com. 

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This edition of the Brainy Gamer Podcast features an interview with Clint Hocking, Creative Director at Ubisoft Montreal (Far Cry 2, Splinter Cell, Splinter Cell: Chaos Theory). In the second half of the show we're joined by Manveer Heir, Lead Designer at Raven Software and Borut Pfeifer, Lead AI Programmer at EALA.

• Listen to any episode of the podcast directly from this page by clicking the yellow "Listen Now" button on the right.

• Subscribe to the podcast via iTunes here.
• Subscribe to the podcast feed here.

• Download the podcast directly here.

Show links:

• Click Nothing – Clint Hocking's blog
• Design Rampage – Manveer Heir's blog
• The Plush Apocalypse – Borut Pfeifer's blog

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After nearly two years, I decided it's time for a Brainy Gamer makeover, so I've redesigned the site to make it brighter and easier to read. I hope you'll find it cleaner and a bit less drab than before.

I've also added RSS feeds for individual posts so you can track comments without having to return to the site.

If there's anything else you'd like to see here, or changes you'd like to suggest, feel free to let me know.

Happy gaming!

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In Hollywood's golden age, movie studios were run by moguls who left their marks on the films they produced. Studio films bore identifiable signatures, and moviegoers in the '30s understood that a picture released by Paramount was unlikely to resemble a picture released by Universal. As depression-era documents of American culture, Warner
Bros. gritty, cynical depictions of life on the streets occurred worlds away from MGM's lavish escapist fare. Jack Warner had Stanwyck and Cagney; Louis B. Mayer had Garbo and Gable.

I've found myself reflecting, surprisingly, on the Hollywood studio era as I've played a couple of sleek new games this week: Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor and Knights in the Nightmare, both released by Atlus, a developer and publisher I've grown to admire in recent years for its commitment to producing smart polished JRPGs that extend and blur the margins of the genre while holding steadfast to its core
elements.

Atlus is the Republic Pictures of the game industry: a small player specializing in quality genre fare on a modest budget. If you've played an Atlus game, chances are you've come to recognize the Atlus signature: tough, stylish, anime-inspired RPGs with slick presentations, clever interfaces, and careful attention to detail.

Games like the Persona series, Etrian Odyssey and its sequel, and the two games I'm currently playing convey a kind of charming anachronism: simultaneously old-school (often brutally so) and edgy new. Even a fatally flawed game like Baroque (developed by frequent Atlus partner Sting) bears the familiar Atlus signature: a rougelike refitted in slick real-time 3D visuals with a fabulous musical score.

Happily, Atlus isn't alone. While the industry landscape continues to change, certain game studios still communicate definably unique identities to their audiences. A Blizzard game is different from a Bioware game is different from a Bethesda game, even though all three specialize in computer/console RPGs. Studios like Grasshopper Manufacture and Q-Games evoke their own specific sets of images and ideas; while others who once had that power (Treasure and Rare, for example) seem in recent years to have lost it.

All this has me wondering how a game studio conveys and sustains an identity. How is it that we recognize its signature? No Hollywood studio today, with the possible exception of Pixar, can
claim the kind of brand awareness that developers like Rockstar and
Kojima Productions enjoy.

Is it a sense of vision? A recognizable style? A design aesthetic? What makes us loyal to certain developers in the way our grandparents and great-grandparents were loyal to Chrysler and Frigidaire? Will consolidation ultimately take game developers down the same road as the Hollywood studios, and if so should we care? Will the name "Atlus" even mean anything in 10 years? Will Rockstar? What does "Activision" mean today?

Okay. That's a lot of questions. Maybe I'd better stop there and invite you to jump in with some answers, if you've got them. I'm not finished with Atlus, however. I'll be back with a post about why I think you should play Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor, even if it is a godawful title for a video game.

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The podcast has been enjoying a summer respite, relaxing on sunny beaches and shooting the breeze with other vacationing podcasts. But a new edition is in the works, and I think you'll be pleased with what I have in store. No spilling the beans here, but I hope you'll agree it was worth the wait. Look for it near the end of this month.

In the meantime, the Vintage Game Club begins its collective playthrough of The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask today. You're welcome to join us and be part of the conversation. Or lurk and smirk. Whatever suits you.

Finally, we're taking a brief child-free getaway (highly recommended if you have kids and forget what it's like to be a couple), so I'll be posting infrequently for the next week. I won't go silent, however, because a little portable game called Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor is going with us, and it's already provoking me. Oh you pesky divine Atlus. Every time I think JRPGs are finished, you put out a game that makes me eat my words.

Happy gaming, everyone!

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The podcast has been enjoying a summer respite, relaxing on sunny beaches and shooting the breeze with other vacationing podcasts. But a new edition is in the works, and I think you'll be pleased with what I have in store. No spilling the beans here, but I hope you'll agree it was worth the wait. Look for it near the end of this month.

In the meantime, the Vintage Game Club begins its collective playthrough of The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask today. You're welcome to join us and be part of the conversation. Or lurk and smirk. Whatever suits you.

Finally, we're taking a brief child-free getaway (highly recommended if you have kids and forget what it's like to be a couple), so I'll be posting infrequently for the next week. I won't go silent, however, because a little portable game called Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor is going with us, and it's already provoking me. Oh you pesky divine Atlus. Every time I think JRPGs are finished, you put out a game that makes me eat my words.

Happy gaming, everyone!

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