My Top 10 Most Influential Games. #3: “Grand Theft Auto: Vice City”.

The Grand Theft Auto series has had an expansive wealth of aberrant iterations, some more distinctive than others. With narratives both satirical and breathlessly irreverent GTA has endured despite constantly being undermined as a series for “casual” and perennially censured as the cause for teenage suicide. Controversy embroiled it, defines it, imbuing it with a sense of vigour that allows it to flourish in spite of the continued sneers, directed by tabloid dirt rags and periodicals that simply look to incite fear rather than understand a game that relishes in the madness of violence and criminality. Above all GTA is daft entertainment, with its absurdity only matched by its gratuity. Nowhere is that lunacy more perceptible than in the series most commercially volatile editions: Grand Theft Auto: Vice City.

I didn’t just adore this game, I lived it. I received it as a Christmas present along with the PS2 that my mother generously saved for, and I subsequently devoted the entire festive period to its completion. The addiction became so prominent that I actually began enacting the scenes as they happened on-screen. Impersonating Tommy Vercetti with such acuity that he’s gestural nuances and speech patterns were mimicked more than was healthy for me. Completing the game was always intoxicating, not because the exhilarating conclusion was satisfying accomplishment (though it was), it’s because I could delete that save file and begin the whole sordid story again! Culturally Vice City was crucial for social kinship in school.

One of the few ways to be socially acceptable or “cool” in school was either not being me or my erudite chums or playing Vice City. If you owned the game and could converse with others familiar with it, then for a few blissful weeks at least, you were courteously accepted by those that didn’t waste the first half of the day talking about and reenacting last nights episode of the Simpsons. The main topic of conversation in school was either Vice City or how one specific student earned a facial scar over the summer holidays (turns out that he fell out of a tree and wasn’t in fact savaged by his Uncle like most of us suspected). The best discussions were always reserved for the supposed controversy surrounding the game, the sensationalized stories by tabloids that detailed the passive influence Vice City would have on inciting violence on children’s vulnerable little minds, which I always found hilariously ignorant and misguided. If there’s anything that concerned parents should have been vigilant of its having their children’s minds corrupted by 80s power ballads.

A 15-year-old me should not know all the lyrics to Toto’s “Africa”! I shouldn’t hear the drums echo in the night, nor for that matter “Die in your arms tonight”, regardless of what you say! Even with several years abstinence from Vice City’s diverse and hilarious radio stations, the soundtrack still resonates with conflicting persuasion. For me it featured the best music that perfectly accompanied an era excess and overindulgence that permeated through the 80’s.

The thing I remember most fondly however was immersing myself the depraved city, occupied by unscrupulous Lawyer’s, Mafia betrayals, suicidal pedestrians and power-hungry charlatans that attempted to impede Tommy Vercetti’s rise to prominence. The journey was so compelling and exceedingly challenging too. Very few of the recent GTA games have prompted the same rage induced spittle that drenched my PS2 controller the way Vice City did. Anything vehicular based or that required a first person perspective were often the most galling parts to bridle, but also satisfying when you heard that musical interlude that indicated the end of a mission, as well as a generous cash reward for your troubles.

GTA Vice City’s most endearing distinction, the one that makes it such an enduring phenomenon is that despite it being years since I last played it, I could still navigate my way around Vice City better than my home town. I knew the best routes to evade the incessant police presence that would pursue me for mild misdemeanours like destruction of property, speeding or soliciting the services of a hooker and repeatedly running over said lady to reclaim my ill-gotten money. It’s that kind of geographical mapping that I believe has made me better at navigation in real life. So I think its fair to say that a game where themes of violence, drugs and torture are abundant affrays and civilians are treated with the same callous ignorance as global warming has actually benefitted me. Perhaps even made me a better person. Maybe. Whatever influence its had on me it throughly deserves its place as one of my all time favourite games. And that’s why GTA: Vice City is my #3 most influential games of all time.

My Top 10 Most Influential Games: #5 “Resident Evil 2”.

So here we are at my number 5, a game that I recall with more clarity than many on this list. Primarily because of just how harrowing this game was for me growing up. Choosing Resident Evil 2 over so many of its prestigious and indeed less revered kindred was a fairly routine decision for me. With the exception of a few misguided entries, the majority of the series has elicited some of the most anxious, bowel shuddering moments of my gaming adolescents. The festering hounds shattering the mansions windows with poop inducing precision. The regenerator’s of Resident Evil 4 that ambled through tight corridors with muffled, gnarled breathing and unsettling palsied twitching. The Nemesis breaking through walls and the conformities of the games infrastructure with literal ferocity, by taking away the safety of entering another room to thwart an enemies pursuit. Not to mention boulder boxing in a volcano, leaches, absurd live action intros, an alphabet worth of viruses and Jill filled sandwiches. But nothing quite resonates with the same enduring terror that this habitually outlandish entry does!

Resident Evil 2 was originally a compromised purchase. Having traded my faulty copy of Crash Bandicoot 2 for Resident Evil 2 from a dubious market proprietor I really had no idea what I had let myself in for. Praise must be paid to the blissful ignorance of my mother though, who if she had any inkling concerning the games sadistic extravagance probably would have forbade me from playing it, not that I would have listened.

Up to this point in my gaming tenure I had mostly been acquainted with more child friendly platformer’s that was much more congenial to my preadolescent sensibilities. So a game of such distinct morbidity, that riled you with its ambient trepidation was so exhaustively disconcerting. My first foray into the decrepit Raccoon City wasn’t particularly successful either, as I wrestled with the controls attempting to manoeuver myself away from the advancing hordes of zombies that had emerged from the incendiary wreckage behind, only to moonwalk directly into their grasp. Wounded I staggered forward trying to negotiate my way past the abandoned cars smouldering beside me as I progressed, only to be embraced by another Zombie just off-screen. The infamous “You Are Dead!” text illuminated the blank screen and I immediately switched it off. I don’t like losing, least of all after a couple of minutes against the games first antagonist. This to me was the equivalent of losing to a goomba in Super Mario!

After considerable time had passed, my juvenile ego renewed by the games absence I persevered, slowly progressing through the ravaged streets, watching in horror as a delightfully gruff gun store owner became a happy meal for the shuffling masses and proceeded to shriek, scream and squeal my way to the cities most elaborately designed police station. This merry little jaunt through the barren streets and musky alleys allowed me to familiarise myself with the revolutionary ability to run, an ability that up to that point I didn’t realise Claire and Leon possessed?! As well as instilling the inherent obsession with conserving ammo to a pathological level, that meant every bullet I squandered just made me more anxious.

Because of the explicit fear this game provoked I could only play it in gradual, interspersed sessions. Every time I stumbled upon a save room I would exhale with exasperated fatigue, requiring a good couple of minutes to compose myself, organise my inventory, combine herbs and use yet another ink ribbon to save my meandering progress before mustering the courage to continue. The only time I’d ever play for more than half an hour is if my step brother was there. And even then we’d hurl the controller at each other as if it were a bomb ready to detonate, signifying that it was their turn to endure the company of giant poisonous tarantulas and feral alligators.

This was also back at a time when a guide or walk-through was reserved for a friend from school who’d completed the game. A friend who was so well versed in the ways of this survival horror that I’d consult with him on an almost daily basis. The stream of convoluted locks, statues, keys with specific insignia’s that had to be found to progress was baffling. Couple that with the constant threat of cannibalism and you got yourself a game that frustrates and terrifies in equal measure.

Despite its absurdity, the clunky movement and graphics that were somewhat dated even when I played it back in early 2000’s, this is still the most memorable entry in the series. I’ll never forget those sudden encounters with the zombies, the faint shuffling and bellowing moans echoing down the corridors. Coming face to face with the sharp-tongued monstrosities that were the lickers, snarling and oozing cascades of saliva as they clung to the ceilings with their serrated claws. William Birkin’s grotesque transformations, Ada Wong’s duplicitous incursion into the Umbrella facility, being hunted by a 7ft Tyrant that would just appear without warning and the dying cop who I had convinced myself was Will Smith, who always had this peculiar inflection every time he said “Umbrella”. And it’s difficult to work out whether it was intentionally sinister, poorly voiced or a composite of both, but I never forgot that scene, nor panicked as much when his slumped, lifeless body lurched up to devour my pixellated face!

Resident Evil 2 gave me more nightmares than I care to remember. Provided some of the most exquisite, genuinely poop you pants moments I’ve ever had. No game since has ever roused the same sustained chills that Resident Evil 2 dished out, nor have my gaming experiences or indeed gaming choices been the same since then. And that’s why Resident Evil 2 is my #5.

My Top 10 Most Influential Games: #6 “Dark Chronicle”.

Long ago, when game related information was exclusively reserved for big glossy magazines, that required you to actively leave your home to purchase these physical periodicals, there was one I purchase frequently: Official PlayStation 2 Magazine. Contained within its sealed plastic wrapping was not only the publication but also a demo disc, containing trailers to upcoming games and of course playable content. These cursory demonstrations presented consumers the invaluable capability to directly measure the potential quality of its retail equivalent, allowing us to make an informed and impartial decision on whether or not to buy them based on these fleeting sequences. It was playing one of these perfunctory demos that I came across a little game called Dark Cloud.

Dark Cloud is an Rpg where you negotiate various procedurally generated dungeons combating monsters and strangely thirst. There was a dehydration meter that depleted over time, unless you consumed bottled water you purchased from vendors or waded in reservoirs that could be found in the dungeons. It was a feature that greatly annoyed me, but the rest of the game was so enthralling it was something I just tolerated. One of my favourite elements of the game however was the city building mechanic that allowed players to rebuild a village in any arrangement they wanted. Of course seeing as it was only a demo I couldn’t engage with it in the same meticulous way I would have done if it were the full product, and alas I was never able to find a copy of it to truly assimilate myself into its hedonistic sensibilities. But a few years later, under rather fortuitous circumstances I did buy its successor, Dark Chronicle.

I had gone into my local W. H. Smiths for a casual peruse. Having recently gained part-time employment at a gardening maintenance company, the money I earned from my highly contributing 3 days servitude was duly squandered, sorry, wisely invested in games. And it was complete chance that I stumbled upon this familiar sounding title. Dark Chronicle was in fact Dark Cloud 2. Why the title was renovated here in the UK is beyond me, but my own personal hypothesis is that Dark Chronicle is less of a sequel and more of an aberration.

“The upgrade system for the weapons is one of Dark Chronicle’s most distinctive assets.”

 

The story revolves around Monica, a time travelling princess who must prevent the destruction of the world from the obviously evil sounding “Emperor Griffin” , who attempts to destroy the present by destroying the past. By migrating 100 years into the past Monica must unite with Max, a mechanic who accidentally finds himself the target of a psychopathic circus clown. You know, that old chestnut. Though the narrative weaves a familiar thread of plot devices and fantasy tropes, it’s endearing idiosyncrasies made Dark Chronicle so profoundly captivating.

Most Rpg’s, action or otherwise rely on a traditional methodology of levelling characters through an intrinsic progression system that enhances particular attributes, such as health, attack, defence etc. In Dark Chronicle you couldn’t do that in a traditional sense. Sure there were explicit resources that amplified these elements, but weapon customisation, or more specifically weapon augmentation is where Dark Chronicle really flourished. Enhancing the effectiveness of lighting on your gun for instance is incredibly advantageous provided your combating water based adversaries, but against another elemental monster it’s profoundly useless! Because each new stage applied a new contradictory environment for you to traverse, merely applying concerted efforts on one or two different attributes to help you navigate one specific area meant sacrificing a weapon’s effectiveness further into the story. You also had to monitor the vulnerability of these weapons as excessive usage would mitigate their effectiveness after a period, requiring you to use repair powder to restore their rigidity.

“There was always something to keep you occupied” 

 

Dark Chronicle actually encouraged you to think. To evaluate your inventories compatibility not just for the next stage, but for future encounters too. And because you could switch between two playable characters in Monica and Max, three if you include Max’s mechanical tank “Ridepod” then there’s an even greater incentive to diversify characters as well as their weapons, which unlike Dark Cloud do not disintegrate beyond repair. Also Dark Chronicle mercifully abstained from integrating the same irritating “thirst meter” that impeded you in its forbear, opting instead for a more affable alternative: namely nothing. But Dark Chronicle thankfully didn’t ignore one of its predecessors most lucrative features, town building.

I simply can’t express how much I adore this feature. There’s something so gratifying about constructing a village to my own very personal specifications that just appeals to my rigorous nature. Distributing trees evenly amongst the residencies. Erecting fences around the homes. Forging paths to each and every property to ensure a sense of community. That may seem like an awful lot of effort to apply to such an extraneous component, but it’s one I relished with enamoured dedication, particularly when you see how it affects the future. You could travel between the past and future and observe what a profound effect the placement of specific buildings, trees or rivers has in 100 years time, which is for lack of a more articulate word, cool!

I could carry on with a verbose thesis analysing every facet of this game to determine precisely why this game means so much to me, but I think I’ve made that clear enough already. Dark Chronicle radiates a lurid vibrancy absent from its stoic predecessor, illuminating every environment with a distinctive tone, even though most of these procedurally generated dungeons adhered to a conformed structure. The combat was simple yet engaging, with weapon customisation that necessitated logistical organisation. The story though structurally basic provided enough sincerity from its superbly voiced characters that you could forgive its banal advancements and at times accept the overarching simplicity. What Dark Chronicles excelled at was enchanting you with its mesmerizing world. Compelling you to keep playing until 3am, forsaking all other duties, which I did!

It didn’t do anything perfectly, it just did everything well, keeping me engaged for months on end. And that’s why “Dark Chronicle” is my #6!

My Top 10 Most Influential Games. #7:”Sonic The Hedgehog 2″.

Sonic 2’s aberrant influences are so ingrained in my lexicon that it’s frighteningly difficult to remember a time before it. In fact my entire existence can be distinguished by the partitions of “Before Sonic” (BS) and “After Sonic” (AS). Yes Sonic is my video game equivalent of Jesus! The obvious exception being that one was betrayed by those he trusted, crucified by his enemies, dying a slow and lingering death to a crowd of worshippers and apostles that mourned his devastating sacrifice. The other, was Jesus. A little harsh considering the ubiquitous analogy, but let’s not pretend that anything in Sonic’s recent history has ever emulated the same raucous quality that pervades his formative years. And that’s especially true when it comes to Sonic The Hedgehog 2.

Sonic 2 has the rather distinguished honour of being the only influential game in my Top 10 that I haven’t actually completed. Many frivolous attempts were made to conquer the sinuous rotations and elaborate perversions that infested these intricately dizzying tracks. Espousing an expeditious fluidity through many trying encounters, without succumbing to the inhibiting frustrations of clandestine obstructions that would emerge without warning along the hazardous route, causing Sonic to discharge gold rings like a Catherine wheel. I came close too, emerging from the penultimate battle with Metal Sonic, clinging desperately to one isolated gold halo only to capitulate to Robotnik after several gruelling seconds. And as for collecting all the Chaos emeralds, forget it! One of my earliest memories of playing Sonic 2 was being round a friend’s house trying to reach the end. We’d each take turns completing a stage at a time or if one of us died. We were in his living room along with his older sister, who I had a huge crush on. Somehow my adolescent mind concluded that being good at this game would somehow attract her, as if she would see me defeat Robotnik and be instantly overcome with lust. “Oh my, what nimble and strong thumbs you have. We should get married!”. But I never discover the truth behind that elaborate fantasy, yet despite that disappointment I never really believed that Sonic was a game that required completion. The journey itself was the reward, and what a journey it was.

“It was the speed and the consequence of that speed that kept me coming back.”

 

Up to this point in my relatively short tenure as a gamer, I had never played a game that incorporated such erratic and dynamic speed into its structure. Most games applied very basic, pedestrian traversal of levels, allowing players time to coordinate an appropriate action and trajectory to their attacks, like Mario jumping on a Goomba for instance. Yet Sonic demanded that same cautious application in a world that promoted elevated movement. Generating significant momentum was a precarious way of negotiating your way to the end, as that same dizzying acceleration was almost assuredly offset by the immediate devastating intervention of a spike or some meandering insect. Enemies were largely benign, but when you’re moving at such exaggerated pace these innocuous, barely mobile creatures become threatening implements of destruction. A brick wall for example is harmless, until you crash into one. It was never safe to run at such speeds, but you did it anyway. And that’s because it was fun, reckless and so innately juvenile.

“Someday I will defeat you.”

 

Kids have 2 gears, first and fifth! And this was certainly true of myself. I never walked anywhere, I ran, oftentimes challenging friends to races at inopportune moments. Sonic replicated that same volatility that I myself harnessed on a daily basis, just encapsulated in a computer game. The soundtrack was also incredibly conducive to being an energetic child. Each stage featured a melody that suited the environment you were in. It was simple, catchy and memorable. Seriously how many of you would be able to imitate the “Green Hill Zone” theme right now? Or recite the “SEGA” intro with the same distorted cadence without the slightest provocation or hesitation? And who amongst you is still terrified of the timer that commences whenever Sonic is close to drowning?! The anxiety and heart palpitating fear of aquatic levels was incubated right here. Any subsequent game that required even an interim requirement to monitor and conserve air terrified me!

“This still haunts my nightmares!”

 

Sonics enduring legacy is truly reliant on its formative succinct period of quality, namely Sonic 1 to 3. Everything that preceded these games just wasn’t the same. Whereas Mario successfully adapted to the progressive visuals and additional dimensions, the Sonic series never really acclimated to the same changing environment. It’s difficult being a fan of this original series, considering the sustained negligence it’s suffered over decades that has resulted in the declination of the brand and subsequent sale to SEGAs biggest rivals Nintendo. Something that my 8-year-old self couldn’t possibly comprehend. Yet that shouldn’t diminish the seminal impact this trilogy had on gaming, specifically myself. It was frenetic yet frustrating, simple yet difficult, compelling yet repetitious, but no matter how many times I failed, cursed in outrage at the controls in all my childlike obscenities, I kept coming back. Even now.

And that ladies and gentlemen is why Sonic The Hedgehog 2 is my #7.

My Top 10 Most Influential Games: #8. “Tales Of Symphonia”.

“That looks different” I remember thinking upon seeing the cover art for “Tales Of Symphonia”. Isolated on a shelf in my local Blockbusters, huddled in the pre-owned section, among other distinguished yet rejected GameCube titles like Mario Kart Double Dash and Super Monkey Ball. All in various stages of disrepute where they had been handled a little too much, with some displaying far more distinctive visible traces of fingerprints, dents and other blemishes, Tales stood apart with its relatively polished veneer and striking vibrant cover. It was the only copy there, looking almost pristine against the neighbouring filth, with the exception of the enormous pre owned sticker unceremoniously fastened to its corner. I recall almost walking away thinking that it’s a game I should research before committing to such an exorbitant purchase, around £20 if memory serves. But I felt compelled as well as abnormally confident that buying it now, without prior knowledge of the software was categorically the most justified act of uninhibited spontaneity I would ever experience. And it was.

Tales Of Symphonia is one of those rare games that I endeavoured to play and complete at least once a year. It’s like an annual itch that needs consistent scratch to appease the irritation, stimulated by a game that on the surface could be considered unremarkable. It doesn’t necessarily have the best graphics, nor the most inspired dialogue. It relies heavily on a rudimentary narrative consisting of a “chosen one” ordained by prophecies and lineage to save the world from biblical destruction, a process referred to as the journey of regeneration that is supposed to rejuvenate the decaying world. Aided by a select group, elected by the chosen one herself they undertake the task of completing this noble task by traversing to specific shrines around the world to begin the process of regeneration. But it’s once the real concept is revealed that it takes on an entirely different orientation. You soon discover that a self-proclaimed deity, the one that has created the world of Sylverant has manipulated two worlds to benefit his own selfish agenda, with the chosen one merely a sacrificial vessel for the soul of his long deceased sister to inhabit, which is a genuinely startling discovery.

Every cliché, Troupe and banal reveal that had been clumsily exacerbated up to this point felt like a deliberate rouse, instigated to throw you off the subverted truth. It’s such a strange turn of events that has serious repercussions for your own perception of the story but also the progression of the characters. When these characters faith and convictions are challenged in such a shocking fashion, with everything they’ve ever believed revealed to be a lie, the one-dimensional characteristics that consolidated this groups persona deteriorates, allowing each individual to grow, developing independently from one another. Characters once repressed by formulaic convictions begin to make sense, developing actual personalities as opposed to quirks to make them distinct, but not rushing that development.

Relationships take time to develop throughout, progressing naturally as they would do on such an arduous journey. Characters adapt, gaining maturity through their conduct and the experiences that impede them along the way. Lloyd Irving for instance is initially a very impulsive adolescent, with his impetuous demeanour inciting the collective ire of his home town following a well-meaning intervention of abuse to an elderly woman and subsequent altercation with the aggressors, that causes the death of many residents as well as destruction of the village itself as recompense for his actions. It’s also an incident that forces him to kill the very person he was trying to protect. By the end of the game he not only refines his skill as swordsmen, but his maturity as well. Embracing a diplomatic authority rather than recklessly instigating violence as an appropriate deterrent to the perceived notion of evil. Instead he reasons the virtues of his ideologies and why antagonizing the purity of such sophistry is a callous abuse of power, fundamentally erroneous to the preservation of a civil society, that warrants the forceful interventions of Lloyd and his companions.

Another defining attribute that really enriched this games diverse and often complex conceit, along with the explorable and vibrant dungeons, seething with elaborate puzzles was something a little more simple: the combat. It introduced a system that promoted a dynamic engagement of provocation, with more immediate fluidity that you controlled, as opposed to the benign turn based tedium adopted by almost every other Rpg. As a result you felt much more absorbed in the conflict, combining a melody of vicious, interchangeable combinations that not only provided an immense capacity for quickly disposing of combatants but made you look good doing so. You could pick any of the 9 or so characters to do this with, with each adhering to a specific style or weapon, though I favoured the much more aggressive katana wielding proclivities of Lloyd, others may prefer a more supporting role like Raine and her ability to heal or Genis and his elemental magic. Best of all is when you link up together to initiate a devastating amalgamation of your combined utilities, completely overpowering an enemy that up to that point had the advantage.

It’s also worth noting that the villain of the story, though flawed worked well as a kind of allegory for the story. The so-called process of regeneration is revealed to be a lie, much like the villain. He’s a charlatan, admittedly one of sizable influence and power, that has altered he’s own appearance to resemble something much more befitting of his immense capabilities. Crafting a pretense of illustrious strength and prominence that belies the scared and lonely child behind the illusion. He isn’t “evil” because he wants money or power (he’s a God, he has all the power he needs!) but because of circumstance. He had been discriminated against as a child, racially segregated no less. His desire to destroy the world, or in his damaged mind unite it by making everyone the same is a product of societies intolerance towards others deemed abnormal or foreign. Strip away the fantasy elements and embellishments and you’ve got yourself a world not too dissimilar to our own.

It’s actually been a couple of years since I’ve played Tales Of Symphonia and perhaps nostalgia has somewhat clouded my judgement of the game. The animation probably hasn’t aged well, and the cut scenes used were always rather basic. But the fact that I was able to pluck most of this information from my usually sieve retaining memory demonstrates just how much this game still resonates with me. Tales Of Symphonia was the most played GameCube game I owned, by far! Though its involvement in my life has somewhat diminished over the years, it influences will remain embedded long after I’ve forgotten my own name. Which is why Tales Of Symphonia is my #8.

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#9. TMNT’s II.

#10. DMC3.