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Note for the balconies

I’m just going to say this here for posterity, so I can link back to it in a few years.

Both HD-DVD and Blu-Ray are going to bomb, people. Not as badly as UMD, though that should give you an idea what we’re dealing with. One or both will hobble on for a while as a high-end videophile format; there’s a hole to fill, now that laserdisc’s gone away. As a mass format, though, DVD’s not budging. Not so long as most people don’t even know if they’re watching a TV show in the right aspect ratio, and not so long as there’s nothing wrong with DVD.

People change their ways when they’ve damn good reason to, and not a moment before. Plain old DVD is going to stick around until it’s too unwieldy to maintain any longer — if for no other reason than that there’s too much personal and architectural investment in the format to arbitrarily pick up and switch to something that’s exactly the same except that guy you know who will scream at you for not hooking up your stereo correctly insists it’s somehow better.

For there to be a successor to a format as established and perfect, for its part, as DVD it will have to offer something so significantly different and so obviously better in just about every aspect of convenience, simplicity, and quality, that there is no comparison between the two. You create something that’s meant to be compared, and you’ve lost before you’ve begun — however nice your product in its own right. Nobody cares! At least, nobody outside the geek ghetto — and that’s the whole issue, in a nutshell.

In conclusion, Sony is fucked.



Changing Faces

After dwelling a bit, I am surprised by the consistency of the Doctor’s character under Russel T. Davies (and within his scripts in particular). Once again the Doctor is left ambivalent about getting close to anyone — alternately clinging and avoiding — yet now has been advised as to his objective need for someone to watch over him, setting up a rather different framework for his upcoming meeting with Martha Jones.

When we first saw the Ninth Doctor, he was shellshocked from the Time War; from losing everyone and everything he perhaps never appreciated — so of course he was both emotionally needy and reluctant to get involved, especially with anyone who wouldn’t stick around and try to understand his world, his life. He became unhealthily attached to Rose, then was reborn healed — at least outwardly — from most of the demons. As he became more dashing and confident, Rose became unhealthily attached to him, placing her desire for him above his objective needs, thereby putting his ego in a strange place. By the end he didn’t subjectively need her so much as he was used to having her, and didn’t objectively need her in that she did little to keep him in line (as she generally had the Ninth Doctor). When he lost her, he was sad and dispossessed — yet more than anything struck again with a sense of failure, of emptiness. It was a different emptiness from the Ninth Doctor’s; in place of desperation was an arrogance. Subjectively he’d shifted from need to want, and he couldn’t step outside himself. Nobody could give him what he wants, everyone leaves in the end, so to hell with everybody. What’s the point.

What Donna does is kick him in the head. “Look, Bozo”, she says, “who gives a damn what you want; it’s obvious from here that you need someone who isn’t going to fawn over you, who’s going to challenge you, and keep you from slipping into your weird place. To keep you human, as far as that goes.” That’s not going to be her, because she’s got better things to do than flit around the universe, playing nanny to a thousand-year-old god; still, she says, go find someone. And right there is an interesting point; there’s a tangible argument for the Doctor not to get too involved with his assistants. It’s an unequal relationship, where the Doctor is in effect in the inferior position. It’s been this way ever since Ian and Barbara, teaching humanity to the Doctor’s veritably antisocial first incarnation (at least, in the first several stories). When Rose lowered herself to his level, that caused problems. She was supposed to be watching over him, and she failed him. In losing her, the Doctor felt failure for his own sake — which is bad enough. For the state she left him in, however, he felt betrayal from the universe in general. And that’s not a good position for a Time Lord to be in.

It sort of makes me wonder if the only real difference between the Doctor and the Master is that the Doctor met Ian and Barbara, and has since generally had the benefit of an emotional compass in some form or another, honed and calibrated by an endless stream of confidants-slash-secretaries-slash-nursemaids, each one adding another nuance, giving the Doctor another bit of self. (Heck, occasionally even giving him their accents.)

Martha seems calculated to both gently kick the Doctor’s ass and to take an active interest in his affairs, without the danger of girly crush to get in the way of business — in a way, a more traditional companion for a more traditional Doctor. The Watson role, as played by a posh ninja lesbian.



Who indeed

And the show *is* called Doctor Who, not Rose.

This is something people keep pointing out, often mingled with displeasure at Rose’s prominence.

Thing is, the title is a question. It’s not called “The Doctor” or “The Amazing Adventures of the Doctor” or “The Doctor Saves the Day”. It’s called “Who the Hell Is This Guy?”. And for that to be the title, the implication is that the focus will be on whoever’s doing the asking — on the impression the Doctor makes on said inquirer. Rose’s role was to act as the audience’s eyes and voice, to explore and maybe to some extent answer the question — though even at the end she never really got a full answer. And we probably never will! He’s the enigma at the center of the series; his companions are in effect the protagonists.



While we’re jumping the gun…

I hope for Dragon Quest X, for the Wii, to filter players’ Mii data though a library of stock Akira Toriyama face and body features, such as to produce customized Dragon Quest styled approximations of the players.

That would seem like something Yuji Horii would have on his “to do” list.

Hey, Tim. Any way you can suggest it to him next time you’re in the same room?



Gestures and Measures

Yes, I think that’s a decent way of looking at it. All these new, supposedly more “friendly” control schemes aren’t really acting as such. They are still forcing new players to remove their preconcieved attachment to, say, swinging a tennis racket, and replacing it with a more standard video game approach in order to get anywhere. They’re essentially just pushing buttons, in the end.

That’s not an issue with the Wii as such, I don’t think, as much as it is with the dumb, overly abstract way things are being designed. What I’ve noticed is that few Wii games either detect the Wiimote in realspace and realtime (as Boxing and Baseball do) or simply use the Wiimote for what it’s worth in added nuance (like an analog stick or trigger, only way more so). Instead, they’re just replacing buttons with gestures and canned animations. It’s frustrating to see — and not even so much as an end product as in what that product shows about how unable game designers currently are, en masse, to wrap their heads around the bleedin’ obvious.

Red Steel is a pretty good example. Instead of giving the player a sword and a gun, and letting him gradually learn how to use them properly — teaching new techniques and whatnot as the game progresses, staggering out “assignments” of sorts (not literal ones) over the game’s story, to allow players to get accustomed to some key concepts of swordfighting or shooting or mixing the two — you tell him to move the controller like this to make this animation happen, and maybe earn new gestures as the game progresses. What the hell? How could you possibly screw this up?

Though this is one of the more obvious examples, you’ll see this problem in pretty much all Wii games currently available — and indeed, in Gamer and press discussion about the system. You can see people straining their imaginations to figure out something to do with the system, and it doesn’t work. Either you get gimmicks or you get phantom buttons. Digital do-or-don’t.

It’s… really not that hard! The Wii really suggests two things: added nuance to traditional games (instead of just doing X, you can do X in any number of ways; the way the game plays changes dynamicly to match your body language) and giving the player true first-person control, for all the subtlety that implies, with a minimum of abstraction, over a certain range of motions. The advantage here is the ability to explore concepts with an organicity impossible with just a digital player involvement — again, making people really learn how to use a sword (more or less) rather than simply pressing buttons or making gestures to cause an on-screen character to do something.

Instead of the player’s avatar developing and learning new things as an abstraction of progress, and instead of learning complex arbitrary and abstract gestures (like moves in a fighting game), the player himself or herself physically learns how to produce difficult, subtle actions that have a tangible result in the gameworld to whatever degree of skill the player posesses.

Imagine a fighting trainer. The wiimote is exchanged for four sensor bands, strapped to each of the player’s wrists and shins, as well as perhaps a belt to provide a center reference point (and perhaps force feedback for when the player receives a blow). The game gradually metes out concepts to the player — not just to improve mechanical technique and to teach new maneuvers; also to improve the way the player mentally contextualizes all of this. It could to some extent teach the art of fighting as well as the science — or at least a reasonable enough facimile for verisimilitude. Likewise, completely new skill sets with no real-world parallel could be devised for the player — so long as they were produced and could be reproduced in a believable and nuanced way.

Games that involve physical concepts would use the Wiimote physically, as above; games that involve more abstract or intellectual ones would use it more abstractly — closer to how we normally think about playing videogames, except with an added layer of capability. Press forward to walk; tilt the controller subtly forward to jog or run forward; tilt it subtly back to creep; tilt it left or right (while still holding forward) to sway or dodge in those directions. The way this should be balanced, the player shouldn’t be expected to physically, consciously tilt the controller so much as the game should respond to slight changes in the player’s posture — those little subvoluntary movements that we make when we want the avatar to behave in a certain way — go faster, hold back, watch out! Excite Truck sort of tries to do this, though it doesn’t seem to be executed as well as it could be.

Likewise, a whole range of related motions could easily be mapped to a single button — much like the state-shifting afforded by shoulder buttons, except intrinsicly analog. Press the button to execute a punch; when pressing the button, move or position the Wiimote this or the other way way to punch in different ways for a subtly different effect. Flick the tip up for an uppercut, say. Imagine the way a Silent Hill 2 or a Metal Gear Solid could take advantage of this subtlety and flexibility — the way it could read into the player’s body language and movement patterns and extrapolate a certain level of psychology from them, to make unseen behind-the-scenes decisions.

This is a pretty damned important breach we’re crossing, here — and we’ve been given a decent, if somewhat rickety, bridge. Yet so far people are just laying the bridge on the ground and using it as a replacement for a sidewalk or a new kind of a bed, or trying to figure out really clever pieces of playground equipment they could turn it into. I kind of hope people get more smart, before the novelty wears off.