Does A Game Need To Be Difficult To Be Fully Appreciated?

Hideo Kojima, the highly revered auteur of game design, as well as the world’s most foremost authority on “What. The actual. Fudge monkeys!” announced something rather understated, yet no less critical. Death Stranding, a highly anticipated departure from his (and they are “his”) Metal Gear Solid projects has incorporated a very easy mode in the game. An all inclusive difficulty setting that allows those with less than gifted hand eye coordination to experience Death Stranding’s ambitious and decidedly incomprehensible story, without all of that bothersome “engagement” so pervasive in computer games. Personally it’s not a difficulty I’d touch. A little guidance and hand holding to assist me through the formative moments of the game is fine, but extended supervision against A.I with diminished intellect is a little more tranquil than even I’m comfortable with. But the fact that this feature is an option is an asset I often find is trivialised.

We are permissive of casual gaming. That somehow a desultory labour is subservient to a greater more immersive challenge. This retitance of autonomy has been most popularised by “Dark Souls” savage treatment of player agency. The challenges inflicted by this sadistic series induces a reciprocated masochism from the people that play it. Somehow deriving pleasure from repeated and total failure. You have to respect a game that treats its players like an abusive uncle trying to teach his nephew how to play football. But the severity at which a game like Dark Souls enforces its tormenting rhetoric requires a dedicated, patient commitment, as well as talent, from its users to discover the appropriate strategy to vanquish a particularly infuriating creature. Purists will no doubt argue that applying a fixed difficulty on the player coerces them to adapt and improve to overcome any potential issues that will impede you. But I disagree.

Would it really harm the game or jeopardise your experience if the it provided an alternative difficulty that suitably matches the skill of someone who was less adept? Time isn’t a luxury afforded to many of us to “Get Good!”. Hell I’m lucky if I can find a solitary hour to play a game without being disturbed or nodding off. I’m often tired, lethargic from a long aggravating day of work. So I find I become allergic to games that demand you lavish attention on them like some spoilt child. The last thing I want to do is endure an agonising extension of my already miserable day! An option for accessibility shouldn’t be something to sneer at, but commend. Facilitating diversity, even if that means optional mitigation of certain functions can only benefit the games accessibility, without compromising the integrity of a games intended difficulty for those that pursue a more challenging experience.

Life is hard enough, without computer games trying to impose their own galling challenges. We shouldn’t be expected to deal with the parade of obstacles that hinders our own everyday lives, reflected in a game. So why worry if someone’s experience with Death Stranding is a little more casual. We’d make life easier sometimes if we could! We all experience life in our own unique way, so why should games be any different? Having the option to reduce a games difficulty shouldn’t inhibit or dilute how an individual experiences it, only enhance it. Besides, a Kojima game is an entirely different beast. One that’s unlikely to yield to the conformities of more rational narratives. The real challenge here will be interpreting the fertile delusions of a man who has always shifted from the banality of normality. You can’t expect people to understand the incomprehensible, while also trying to play game!

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Should all games come with adjustable difficulty? Let me know in the comments below. Cheers.

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How “Retro Replay” Healed Me.

Let me give you some context. Around May of last year I was enduring a rather hideous time in my professional–and by extension– private life. The company I was working for were suffering from a severe financial crisis. Having been hemorrhaging money for such an extended period, the company had no alternative but to seek alternative assistance. The company was of moderate size, with employees that communicated with one another earnestly, with no compunction for professional discretion. We were friends more than we were co-workers, which reflected in our workaday discourse and the way in which we chose to communicate. As a result of our friendly, honest conversations we were already vaguely aware of the companies struggles with solvency. We just didn’t realise to what extent. “Strategic planners” (this is how they were introduced to us) were consulted to try and market the business to prospective investors. For the next couple of months we tried to carry on as if it were business as usual, gossiping anxiously amongst ourselves and hoping that a solution was being finalised between the necessary parties. I’m sure there were many critical meetings and discussions going on to ensure the continued existence of the business. Yet despite several companies expressing a keen and legitimate interest, with one in particular coming close, the company was unable to secure a buyer. And that was it. The company was plunged into liquidation. Redundancies were made. And a once thriving business was no more.

Fortunately for myself I had managed to secure employment somewhere else in the interim, allowing for an immediate move away, yet still allowing me to claim my rather moderate, but no less beneficial redundancy. However those couple of months of uncertainty were so demoralising, that it affected me both emotionally and mentally. The thought of not being able to provide for my family was palpable, which was always my primary consideration. So to feel publicly exposed as a failure, even though this was an indirect consequence of other people’s negligence, was incredibly agonizing for me. This was one of the rare occasions in my adult life where I felt that control, or at least the perception of it, was taken from me. Now what does this have to do with a YouTube channel, featuring two of the worlds most ubiquitous voice/motion capture performers? Well, quite a lot actually.

Sitting on a leather upholstered sofa, surrounded by a plethora of desirable curiosities of distinct cultural significance, that if I could “would” decorate my own home, two men discuss the psychological implications of being humped by a dog. These kind of anecdotal confessions are what most lesser content creators would shy away from. Yet Troy Baker and Nolan North confront these critical issues with sensitivity and sincere conviction. And it’s bloody hysterical! The official premise of “Retro Replay” for the uninitiated is that the aforementioned Drake brothers play classic, and not so classic games from yesteryear. A more accurate description however is that these two encouragable “Sunset Riders!” stray down conversational rabbit holes, with many sinuous tangents that bare little relation to the original topic they were discussing ten minutes ago. Oh, and play games, occasionally. Its like meeting up with your best friends for a midweek chat, except you’re not interrupting them with excerpts about your own boring week.

Its refreshing to watch two actual friends engage with one another the way friends actually would. Especially friends that aren’t being moderated by their respective partners. There’s an organic gregarity that resonates through their interactions. Conversing with a natural fluidity and spontaneity that you’d expect from people that have a genuine interest in what the other is saying. There’s no false pretense. No scripted diologue. Just two icons of the gaming industry, that just happen to be good friends, blessed with the fortunate opportunity to work together on a show that affords them the chance to drink, play games and talk crap. All with a sincerity that alludes far more popular YouTube channels.

Retro Replay got me through those rough couple of months illustrated above. Eliciting great comfort at a time I was at my most anxious. I remember getting home from a job interview, which I didn’t get, settling down on my sofa with some comfort food I’d purchased post interview. Exhaling deeply, stifling an exacerbated sigh and wasting close to 3 hours watching past episodes I’d missed just to alleviate the burden of impending unemployment. Retro Replay provided solace from the precarity of my life and continues to assauge the debilitating monotony of my current job.

Troy Baker. Uncle Noly (sounds creepier than I thought?). Thank you. I can’t wait to see what you play next.

Goodbye Uncharted 3’s Multiplayer.

Change is inevitable. For the most part it’s daunting. But mostly annoying. As necessary as it is, sometimes it can be hard not to feel as though something has been left behind. In the case of Uncharted 3’s multiplayer’s admittedly timely epilogue, a little part of history, so often sought after by Nate is lost to the ethereal purgatory of progression. Along with its predecessor “Among Thieves” and its opulant sibling “The Last Of Us”, Uncharted 3: Drakes Deception online extensions are sadly no more. It shouldn’t really be much of a surprise considering that even the most committed fan has almost certainly long since eloped to more occupied community. I know I did, hastened I might add by the release of the Ps4.

Uncharted 3 was my first real foray into a competitive, multiplayer environment. Purely incentivized by the fun and captivation I was having with the story mode. Once I had achieved relative greatness by completing the game on its appropriately titled “Crushing” mode, and having given myself the necessary time to recover from the control shattering, wardrobe punching frustration solicited by this execrable mode, I wanted more. Though it wasn’t for everyone, to me it seemed like a natural extension to Deceptions rousing bluster. I remember buying my first Bluetooth earpiece, emblazoned with a vulgar red and black camo for added dick knobbery, just so I could communicate with other level headed individuals and engage in some courteous exchanges. Perhaps even some light hearted banter post match. Yeah, I didn’t really understand how online interactions worked. But I relished the combative nature of Uncharted’s multiplayer none the less.

Whereas as most players were content to improve their kill/death ratio, performing the “Carlton” over the limp, cursing bodies of their opponents. I preferred to battle my way through waves of disposable grunts in co-op mode. This was always my favourite mode, teaming with other players to battle automated foes always gave me a great sense of kinship. As if are dedicated synergy was the fundamental basis for our eventual success. But that shouldn’t precipitate that I didn’t also enjoy pounding the living “Crap” out of people in 5v5 games. Darting from one side of the map to the other in dramatic, heroic fashion. Taking down players with assured accuracy, snaeky close quarters asphyxiations and running around blindfiring like a short sighted radical. All while leaping and rolling in a zig zag motion to avoid the distant reticle of some clandestine sniper. The matches were often unbalanced, with one player always being the seasoned veteran amongst a group of moderate, often erratic casuals. Yet there was always fun to be had, even when you were losing. And I think that’s what I’ll miss the most.

I’m ashamed to admit that I didn’t venture back to experience Uncharted 3’s multiplayer in its closing phase. I regret that immensely. But it’s significance should not be undestimated, even amongst the most revered FPS’s of its time. It had so much charm and charismatic irreverence that you just didn’t get in other online multi-player’s. Though I’m satisfied with the time I had, I will be sad to see this go. So with a heavy heart I bid Uncharted 3’s multi-player a fond, if abject farewell. You were truly the most underrated online experiences I’ve ever had.

Trying To Be A Better Blogger.

I’m not a writer, never claimed to be. I’m a sloppy coordinator of words, reliant on an excessive use of adjectives to help express an opinion. A particular deficiency that is often criticised by readers with a better understanding of the English language. Without predictive text, all of my protracted assertions would be laden with spelling errors, with many glaring omissions that completely undercut the points I am trying to make. My writing style, if I have one, could be described as legible, perhaps even laboured. At worst, it can be contradictory and chaotic. Moreover I find that most of my protracted ramblings veer off on bizarre tangents that yield no discernable logic and contribute no associative relevance to the topic in discussion. In all honesty, I couldn’t tell the difference between a noun and a verb without first looking it up. Writing doesn’t come easy to me. Oftentimes it can be frustratingly difficult to write anything.

From an early age I had a very strained relationship with the written word. During my formative years teachers would provide one-to-one tutalage, separating me from my friends for most of the lesson, in an attempt to get me up to speed with the rest of the class. Being a remedial student made it difficult not to feel isolated, even though most of my friends were very encouraging and the teachers, to their credit did help me to improve both my reading and writing, without me feeling patronised. One of my earliest stories was a 14 page dossier about the epicness of “The Power Rangers” . No doubt it was convoluted, nonsensical and littered with with spelling errors, but was compelling nonsense that I relished scrawling.

Since then I have maintained a healthy interest in both reading and writing, even if I’m not afforded the same liberties I was before I became a father. Blogging has been my primary creative influence, facilitating a myriad of abstract thoughts that readers aren’t entirely appalled by. This site has always been a place of liberating catharsis. Somewhere I can express myself free from the encroaching confinement of my mind. It has a modest audience, one that I engage with on a very limited basis. Purely because of negligence and laziness on my part. I should be more active than I am. There’s no excuse really. Despite contributing to my site for a number of years, publishing articles with infrequent regularity, writing hasn’t got any easier. Deciphering and constructing sentences from the muddled assembly of thoughts that rattle around in the recesses of my head, is like trying to piece together a puzzle without the picture on the box. It’s a malady I’ve struggled with since I was a kid. Trying to focus the collective sinuses of my brain into a coherent semblance of communicable language requires such concentration, that at times can feel frustrating! It’s a pervasive challenge that cripples me creatively and emotionally. And yet I keep doing it.

This isn’t a job for me, it’s a hobby. And yet writing, blogging, venting, whatever you want to call my eccentric musings is the only hobby I’ve been able to consistently sustain. As tough as it can be and as hopeless as I imagine my writing is sometimes (most of the time), there are those few fleeting moments of pure satisfaction. That something you’ve written, perhaps just a sentence, conveys this profound sense of accomplishment. It’s these rare moments of clarity that enables me to improve. Well, at least I hope it does. To strive beyond being just a passionate amateur, with aspirations of one day having anything I’ve written worthy enough to be published. Even if I’m the only one that knows about it.

Why I Still Interact With Games As If I Were A Child.

You’d think that age would breed maturity. That becoming a father, being approved a mortgage and the general congestion of adult life would inform how you’d maturely perceive the world. Don’t be silly! If a fart noise escapes from a rear end, you’d better believe I’ll be there giggling next to a 7 year old. Especially if it’s one of those elongated ones that squeaks out like trumpet. As the old Chinese proverb says “If an old lady trips over her pomeranian and I’m the only one around to see it, will I still laugh?”. Yes. Yes I would. Embarrassingly loud! I’m actually chuckling to myself right now thinking about it. The point being that even in my thirties I can still tap into that juvenile part of myself that perceives things from a peculiar, yet inquisitive perspective. One of my most enduring beliefs is whether or not characters in games interact with one another when I’m not playing. As ridiculous as that sounds, I still firmly believe that there’s a fully functioning society, socialising discreetly while the game is idle. Here they’re not bound by scripted diologue or preprogrammed paths, but free to explore their virtual surroundings unmolested by my incompetent manipulation.

To this day I still adhere to these infantile fantasies that give substance to the inatimate. Games still stimulate those esoteric curiosities I used to have. The seemingly pressing questions about a games systemic constructs that are still so important. Usually its concerning the most arbitrary and benign observations. For instance, where do residents in the Pokemon games go to the toilet? Seriously, every commercial or residential building seems to lack this most basic facility. Many of these properties are usually inhabited by pets that are presumably expelling regularly quantities of Poke poo. So where does that go? I certainly don’t see any kind of waste disposal outside where such deposits could be disposed of. And as much as I respect the protagonists “fourth wall” breaking perogative to own the same games console that I’m currently playing the game on, surely a onsight latrine is a much more valuable resource. This isn’t the only architectural omission that I’ve questioned in this world.

I’ve often found it curious that residences in Pokemon, particularly the main protagonists humble abode is frankly a little too humble. The house itself is usually two story, consisting of a living room, kitchen and dining room, with a bedroom on the second floor occupied by a desk, bookshelf, Television, Games console and a bed. Which begs the question: does your mother sleep with your character? Do they have an oedipus complex? Is that why the mother is often so cavalier about her child’s sudden departure to become the very best? Because she no longer has to endure the unrecipricated advances of their offspring? Or perhaps one of them slept on the sofa, I don’t know.

I could go on questioning other logistical inaccuracies that fascinate me in games, but I think I’d bore even myself. Whether it’s characters adventuring with enough equipment to stock a small supermarket without being encumbered, nor displaying a perceptible means of hoarding so much baggage. Or a characters indelible aversion to permanent death, these are the kind of questions I’d always ask myself, and seemingly still do. Imaging that these npc’s interact with one another while I’m away, for some strange reason is a comforting notion. Especially as they’re more than likely wondering where they can poop!

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Are there any strange observations you’ve made while playing a game that you’d like the answer too? Let me know in the comments below. Cheers.

Stop Blaming Video Games.

Why am I not surprised. What is it about people in positions of influence that feel compelled to defer culpability to things? Stuff. Inatimate objects or possessions. The tragic, yet all too familiar atrocities committed in Ohio and Texas couldn’t possibly be inspired by elicit ideologies that provoke a misguided hatred towards others? No, it must be because they got a little upset losing their fake money, in a virtual casino while playing a make believe character in GTA. These are the same recycled arguments you hear from politicians and journalists all the time, that can’t accept blame for their own negative influences. This kind of projected ignorance, though not exclusively reserved for the US, only further exacerbates the government’s lack of accountability to address the real underlying issues.

Being a UK resident, since you know, birth, I see similar attitudes towards gaming by our own media. That somehow video games, specifically those with violent depictions are threatening the minds of the most vulnerable. Which has always seemed strange to me considering that the GTA’s and Call of Duty’s of this world are rated 18 or mature. Which means not for kids. Almost as if they’re regulated by some governing body that deems content unsuitable for children. We live in a society where we can blindly accuse, and if said with enough conviction can be considered reasonable testimony. Seemingly truth and fact are easily manipulated. There’s simply no correlation that the tragedies inflicted on those stateside is in anyway being informed by video games that these individuals may or may not have played. It’s like blaming a Hedgehog for climate change, not that such a thing exists in the twisted mind of Trump.

Mass shootings, particularly in schools is almost entirely representative of the United States facilitation of gun culture. Its a way of life there that I personally wouldn’t feel comfortable with. Access to firearms is inhibited by laws here in the UK, and it isn’t a coincidence that gun crime is significantly lower than those across the Atlantic. I don’t pretend to know all the answers, I’m not in any way a political analyst. But you can’t tell me that it’s entirely coincidental that a country with limitations on accessing guns, doesn’t suffer from gun crime? The US second amendment clearly stipulates the right to bear arms, for the purposes of defence, not mass murder. So much like religion, interpretation is used to conflate an individuals proclivities, not to accurately enforce what was written.

If there is anyone that’s indirectly liable for allowing such devasting occurances to persist, other than the parents, its the United States government, not video-games. Donald Trump, the literal embodiment of “Old man yells at cloud” has deflected responsibility from his own explicit intolerances, regularly flaunted on social media that only creates more division between people who should be unified against these horrific attacks. He, along with others have made it acceptable to endorse such a vile and inflammatory rhetoric, that has no statistical basis outside of the warped, bigoted little mind of a man full of pomposity and bluster, but has frankly achieved nothing during his administration. There’s no rigor. No diligence. No measurable ounce of complicity or accountability. Yet sadly people, similarly motivated feel encouraged by his remarks. That these ingrained discriminations they’ve been quietly concealing for years are now tolerated views. They’re not.

Video Games don’t hate. They don’t victimise players or incite violence. They don’t rally people to exploit genders, sexual preferences, skin colour or nationality. They certainly don’t advocate the radicalisation of individuals to buy weapons and use them against another living person. Donald Trump, and his obstinately loyal entourage should be no more threatened by video-games than rational people are by logic.

Video games don’t kill people, guns do. Get your priorities straight!

Bring Back “Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door”.

Arlo, a blue puppet with an irresistibly pragmatic attitude towards the gaming industry, is petitioning Nintendo to remaster “Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door”. Using the hashtag: #RemasterTheThousandYearDoor. Arlo delivered an impassioned speech on his YouTube channel detailing the necessity to have TTYD remastered for the Switch. A series shamefully neglected and mishandled by Nintendo for far too long in my opinion. Originally released 15 years ago on the GameCube, an utterly confounding time frame considering it was nearly half my life time ago, TTYD concerns Mario retrieving seven crystal stars, located in various stylised locations and scenarios, to rescue Princess Peach from “not” Bowser. It was such a distinctive aberration to the Mario series that it’s regrettable that the sequels were so, pardon the pun, “flat” in comparison.

Prefacing his concise request for a remaster with a message, Arlo details that he can’t confidently consider himself a fan of the Paper Mario series, comparing it’s inconsistencies to that of “The Simpsons” regressive quality over the years, which is a analogy I can personally relate too. And it’s an interesting assessment. If we can’t get a sequel worthy of TTYD’s venerable standard, then why not remind ourselves of just how good this series could be. Especially after a 15 year absence. I’ve been a persistent advocate for this remaster since the Switch was released, but possessing neither the influence nor popularity that Arlo commands to help bring this dream to fruition. Will a little help from all of us of course.

Starting a conversation can at the very least illicit some recognition from Nintendo that “The Thousand Year Door” is worth salvaging from the bygone GameCube era. As well as a profitable endeavour for the company. If Rage Against The Machine can get a Christmas number one and Donald Trump can be elected President of something outside his own fan club, then surely there’s no reason for Nintendo to ignore a project that can quite easily, not to mention quickly be converted to the Switch.

Arlo, for what it’s worth, I’m with you. Let’s make Paper Mario great again!

#RemasterTheThousandYearDoor