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The Shooting

In a sense, the interaction in a shooter is about the most basic interaction available in the medium. You reach out and touch your environment by sending out a “ping”; a probe. As you mention, the shooter is the original videogame — starting with SpaceWar. Even Pong operates on a similar principle, really. It’s just… backwards, kind of, in that the “bullet” is coming toward you, and you’re trying to catch it. (I don’t quite like this model as much.)

All through the medium, shooting more or less equates to exploration. In Metroid, you test the walls, and get a feeling for your environment, by shooting at them and it. In Asteroids and Centipede, your shooting shapes the very gameworld.

It was something of a revolutionary leap to switch away from this mechanic in Pac-Man and Donkey Kong and Super Mario Bros. — that whole thread that I was mumbling about before. In that model, you’re no longer pecking at the environment from afar but personally running around and punching and gobbling and jumping through it. Sort of interesting to tie this into what I was saying earlier. Not sure how it all goes together.

Mizuguchi went back to a rail shooter for Rez for a reason: he wanted a clean slate; to strip away all of the junk we have piled on top of the medium for the last few decades, and make the most basic videogame he could, that would still be palatable to a contemporary audience. There’s nothing more basic than a shooter. This is ground one, for videogames. Everything else is built on, or exists in rebellion against, this mechanic. Mizuguchi then tried to find just how much he could express with this mechanism — to show, in part, that it’s not the game system which necessarily drives a game, on an artisic, on an emotional level. Also, just to show how much can be said with how little — and thereby to ask why we have come to tend to express so little with so much.

This is why I like Rez — just the whole way it disassembles our whole notion of the videogame, and shows how it might be used more well than it has been.

I’m really curious what his next step might be.

Parts of the above, combined with parts of what I said about Gradius V here



POWER IS… LOSING CONTROL… UWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!

I would still like to be able to duck, in Morrowind.

I mean. There are two buttons mapped to the menu. There is both an action button and an action-after-you-have-drawn-a-weapon-or-readied-a-spell button. That’s kind of a waste. You can save two buttons there. Put attack on the face action button, and put, say, duck on the trigger. Then allow me to put run on the other face button, so I am not forced to use analog, if I do not wish. As it is, I keep finding myself running when I do not mean to. It will feel better, to my sensibilities, if running is turned into a conscious decision, rather than just a side effect of trying to get somewhere. Or if I have that option, anyway.

I further wonder why both the left stick and the D-pad move the character. Yet more repetition! Yet more waste! Why not allow the player to map four different functions to the pad!

So. Here is my idea of a (fully remappable) control scheme — some of which would entail altering the game mechanics somewhat:

Left stick: character movement (with an analog on/off function)
Right stick: camera movement
Left trigger: jump
Right trigger: ready shield
A: action
B: run
X: sneak
Y: menu (notebook would be included here)
White: use item 1 (equipped on belt, say)
Black: use item 2
D-pad left/down: ready spell
D-pad right/up: ready weapon
Start: pause/save/load
Back: rest
L-stick click: duck
R-stick click: camera change

Yes. This would be nice.

The cat, at some point since last I was in the living room, turned on the PS2 by itself. Somehow.



Last Train to Grouchville

Ho ho!



A place for everything, and everything in its place

Smiley: I was thinking…
Smiley: The Legend of Zelda dungeons have rooms that serve no purpose, really. Death Mountain has entire sections that seem to be there for the sole purpose of wearing down people who wander into them.
Smiley: They’re just there so the dungeons look like something.
Smiley: If that happened in a game today, it would be considered unacceptable. Everything’s got to be clever. Everything’s got to have a purpose. What’s a long string of rooms without a treasure chest at the end?
Smiley: Hm.
Smiley: But… one might think that, today, we have the technology to actually make those “pointless” things worthwhile.
Smiley: I guess it might just be a matter of engaging the imagination.
Smiley: There’s still a lot of details to fill in, these days. You just need to look harder.
Aderack: Yeah, though — that’s a problem that I have with contemporary design, that Ico kind of is an indirect example of. If there’s a long string of rooms, then there’s GOT to be something good at the end, right?
Aderack: With Zelda, you just don’t know.
Aderack: Everything is so uncertain.
Aderack: Zero Mission does a lot to fix the pointless bits in Metroid. I actually applaud this, though, for the most part — as it was kind of a problem in the original.
Aderack: That’s a really interesting point.
Aderack: Especially given that the two games are contemporaries.
Smiley: Myst is one of the few games that actually could easily have pointless things, yet… nothing is.
Smiley: Well, not in Riven, anyway.
Aderack: Hmm.
Aderack: Yes. Although you don’t know that until much, much later.
Aderack: And it’s kind of a moment of revelation when it does come together.
Aderack: That’s one of the grand elements, I think.
Smiley: Mm.
Aderack: Not too many games have a structure like this.
Aderack: Can’t think of any others offhand.
Aderack: Oh, Metroid Prime kind of.
Aderack: Phantasy Star II, kind of and less so.
Smiley: There is almost nothing you can point at that does not, in its way, hint at the interwovenness of all things.
Smiley: Metroid Prime… yes. There are a lot of “pointless” things that are there because they’d really be there.
Smiley: FFX-2 has a lot of pointless things in a bad way. Except for the Pointless status, which I probably mentioned.
Aderack: This Zelda-like sense of the unknown — you’d think that it would be a strong element in Metroid. If it was a problem in the first game, Metroid II played it much better. The whole game is tonally so… creepy, and depressing, that the unknown game structure, and dead ends, and getting hopelessly lost, kind of helps.

Then it was gone from the series forever, starting with the third game. Same with Zelda, with the third game.
Aderack: The design had gotten too good.
Aderack: Prime, though –
Aderack: Yeah. That’s an exception.
Aderack: I think that might be part of why it makes an impression on me.
Aderack: It’s messier, yet in a grand sense.
Aderack: It just seems random in some respects, until it begins to come together.
Aderack: And then there’s the Riven-like epiphany.
Smiley: Aha! 

That game. You know. The… uhr. Yogurt Factory was the main song, right? That was almost an exercise in pointlessness.
Smiley: The good kind.
Aderack: Seiklus?
Smiley: Pointlessness may be the wrong word, now.
Smiley: Yeah.
Smiley: I mean the game has things are there for their own sake.
Smiley: Maybe a Taoist kind of pointlessness.
Aderack: Well. Pointless in the sense that it is not part of a focused, well-honed design but rather serves an emotional purpose by making the world more unpredictable and real-feeling.
Aderack: That lends the game an air of mystery.
Aderack: You’re never quite sure what its limits are.
Smiley: Mm.
Smiley: Which is a problem with current game design.
Smiley: Which needs to say, “this, this is your limit,” or else people complain.
Smiley: I think the invisible swimming walls in Super Mario Sunshine are a pretty good metaphor.
Aderack: If anything is hidden, it tends to be so stupidly arbitrary.
Aderack: Not really part of the world at all.
Aderack: Like the bizarre lengths that you need to go through in a Final Fantasy game to get that really, really good weapon.
Aderack: Something you’d never find just through honest tinkering with the world’s boundaries.
Aderack: It would be interesting to play with those expectations that people have now.
Aderack: To put an invisible wall in, apparently to contain the player — and yet…
Aderack: Well, I’m not sure.
Smiley: Hmmmmmmm…
Aderack: Push some buttons. Make people question what they have come to accept.
Aderack: I guess that perhaps ties in with making those pointless things worthwhile, as you said up front.
Aderack: It’s really the SNES which began this junk. Or at least, that’s where the modern design concepts got honed and popularized.
Aderack: It reminds me of the classical style of art — where everything has to be in its place, or it is wrong.
Aderack: No room for messiness. No room for emotion. Just mannequins and religious symbolism.
Aderack: I want some expressionism.
Smiley: We have enough games about ninji for now.
Aderack: What about an expressionistic ninja?

With dialogue by Bertolt Brecht?
Smiley: But what would they do for the sequel?
Aderack: I’m not sure. Brecht first. Then we’ll do lunch.



Being and Time

A year after it was published, Bloom reread it himself, and found that he couldn’t understand it either.”

I suffer from the same problem. Only, it usually only takes a few months for me. Sometimes only a day.

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly really is a great movie. I keep rewatching it. I keep finding new layers. I keep finding new facets to the structure. To the relationships of the characters between and amongst each other; to the relationships between the fleeting present and some unknown past; to the relationships between the characters and the world around them. To the relationship between the inane and the meaningful. How everything reflects or absorbs or contrasts everything else. The only thing that bothers me is how Tuco gets his gun and old outfit back, toward the end. (I guess a big gap occurs between the previous scene and that one. Still: hmm.) This is the biggest bit of dream-logic in an already (intentionally) surreal film. I guess it’s okay. It’s just perplexing.