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So there’s Silent Hill 4. Now that it’s over, I’ve got to say it’s one of the most fascinating things I’ve played in a long time. Indeed, it does all make some kind of sense in the end — even if the exact logistics often remain muddy for me. I think that’s a strength
I will write a page on it, as requested, in a few moments.
As an aside: take what Robert McKee says about voice-over in film, and apply it toward cutscenes in a videogame. See how that works out.
It just hit me the other day how absurd the term “scientist” indeed is, as it was considered from about two hundred years ago when it was coined up until around a hundred. If you consider that “science” is just a formal term (being Latin) for “knowledge”, and that the field that we now call science really IS basically a natural philosophy — it…
I mean. It’s like labeling yourself an ideological proponent of knowledge. Which is fine, I guess, but doesn’t it seem both inordinately arrogant and a little silly to claim that a rational consideration of exterior evidence (a reasonable, if inherently backward approach — as evidenced by the absurdity and horror that the scientific method has brought to, say, psychology, or any system where exterior variables only hint at the actual story) is equal to knowledge itself — and that you are a ideologue of this standpoint, this One Truth?
Was a time, there were no public telephones in the sense we know now; there were phone booths: private kiosks, to seal your private conversation away into privacy. Nobody would be able to listen in; nobody would be forced to listen. As with a save room in Super Metroid, they would provide a temporary escape from the world. It’s much the same theory behind bathroom stalls (although I regret they largely lack the soundproofing quality).
I mourn the loss of such havens. Imagine if in favor of restrooms, urinals were installed on street corners.* Now imagine people carrying his- or hers-shaped flasks with them everywhere; ones with a library of cute electronic “flushing” sounds for when activated, that they would idly flip through on the bus even as they shot you sidelong glances, waiting for your frown. (It stands to reason that Japanese models would tell your horoscope and give you love advice, based on their analysis of your input.)
Dignity is undervalued, these days. Even the new Doctor Who is purported to wear a leather jacket and ordinary clothing. In protest, I aim to invest in a fedora when it becomes economically feasible. I already own old-fashioned vests and a dapper old woolen coat. Even a couple of pocket-watches, albeit with a need for fresh batteries. I do not own a driver’s license, nor do I need or desire one at present.
There is much I have to do about this culture, when the time comes.
* – Actually, I can see this as an improvement in some cities. Less flippantly, I should note that in places, such urinals are becoming a real after-hours phenomenon, to give homeless people and drunkards somewhere to relieve themselves besides people’s doorstops.
A deleted fragment from an article I’m writing:
Which brings us back to why an outside team — in particular, one like Treasure — had to make Gradius V. Whatever your criticisms about Treasure, the thing you can’t deny is that they are design prodigies. Where they might falter, if they do, comes from their fondness for toying with or ignoring convention just because they have the skill to see an opening. Sometimes the results aren’t successful by any normal standards, athough (perhaps especially then) they can still inspire on a different level entirely. Where some people find the Coen Brothers and Charlie Kaufman self-absorbed and pretentious; others appreciate their impudence – for its own sake, and for what else it brings into question. The same thing here. It’s all perspective.
It’s Treasure’s perspective in particular, however, which was needed in this case.
Chopping, chopping, chopping…
When Yu Suzuki began his work on Shenmue, I doubt he any more understood what the game was going to be than I know what I’m going to eat for breakfast tomorrow. Sure, he had a plan — a plan for a Virtua Fighter-themed RPG. And when the game was finished, it had turned into a hands-on parable for the idea that life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans.
If, as they say, creativity is the tendency to make interesting mistakes, and if the best works are found in the editing, then intent becomes academic.
What, then, I find really interesting are those supernaturally clean concepts — statements so precise and frankly obvious that they surely must have burst from the aether of their own volition, without any human filter to muck them up. The truth is that, almost to the last, these are just the same shotgun ideas we all try to express, only edited to such a fine point that you feel you can use them as a weapon.
After a brief period of awe, I now understand Gradius V as one of these cases.
At the outset, I admit I was a little confused by how few choices the game seemed to present in comparison to past games. There is only one ship: the Vic Viper. There are four weapon modes, yet they all seem so similar; each has the same kind of a force field, all have the same laser, and what variable factors exist are much the same.
Later I saw that Treasure had merely brought the Options to the fore and center of the game mechanics, doing the uncanny obvious. With this one move, the game and indeed the whole concept of Gradius sticks as it never quite has and never would have otherwise. For the benefit of focus, away with the ripple laser and the photon torpedo and the classic Gradius shield, in favor of the Life Force model. Away with the checkpoint-respawning, again in favor of the Life Force system.*
Though — apparently not too far away. As insightful as the final game is, it looks like Treasure didn’t know any better than I what they were doing when they began. I say this because it seems they actually developed a bunch of that excess material which has so bogged down the series just for the sake of being there. When you beat the game — despite the difficulty level, I find it is more a when than an if — you are treated with a few of the details that Treasure apparently chose to leave out. Namely, a weapon select mode that includes a trove of abandoned concepts, largely inspired by past games.
As far as extras go, this one is about perfect; like a deleted scenes reel, only better. After the game knows the player has had the full experience, it eases up and returns all the toys that Treasure had taken away for fear of distraction, or even of undermining the whole game design. Even if it breaks the game, I finally get my ripple laser. I get a couple of neat missile types, which are far more useful (that is, easy to exploit) than the defaults. If I really want it, I can now use the old-style Gradius shield. I even have some wonky flavors of double shot, that I can combine with my Option type at will.
To me, this is neat precisely because I feel I have now earned the liberty to mess around. I’ve listened to what the game had to say. I’ve done what there is to do. Now we can let down our hair. It’s much the same strategy you see in fighting games like Capcom vs. SNK, where you to make want certain characters available, yet where those characters don’t really fit the main roster. So you lock them away, to make it clear that they’re just there for the fun of it; they’re not part of the actual design.
If I thought the game was brilliant before, I now also consider it generous. Particularly in regards to the insight it provides on Treasure’s creative process. It is a relief to see that they don’t just come up with these ideas; as with anyone, they have to just throw paint at the canvas, and see what sticks. Still, what editors they are!
A note: I see that Gradius V, as with Ikaruga, was designed and developed by only about half a dozen people. I think this says a lot for small teams. I wonder how the growth of team size corresponds to the way the medium has changed (and grown distracted) over the last decade. Something to think about.
* – If the game seems to draw from Life Force so much, I think there is a reason: Life Force is one of the only other games in the series to get certain key things right. Most of the other games in the series are so mired down in tradition and clutter that they become relics of broken-yet-cute ideas.
