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: #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.

My Top Ten Most Influential Games: #10. Devil May Cry 3.

Let’s rock baby!

Easily one of the coolest additions to this list, “Devil May Cry 3: Dante’s Awakening” was anarchic, bloody, loud and violent. Exuding a stylistic combat system that benefitted from an absurd visual fluidity that made every blistering encounter with the malformed demons feel as though it was your last. From the very first confrontation, instigating one of the most justifiable acts of violence, after Dante’s pizza is crushed by the foot of a cloaked assailant, Dante eliminates several adversaries by slicing a pool table in half, shooting the cue ball into the suspended cluster of balls that has hurtling past him for multiple Fatalities, I knew this was something special. Having already played and completed the series previous two incarnation I knew what to expect from this Gothic themed aberration of the Resident Evil series. You can immediately distinguish the games emphasis on a more effectual approach to combat that was sadly absent from its predecessor, establishing confrontations that necessitated a formidable agility, fleet dexterity and a logistical objective. Though the game excelled at the traditional hack n slash, liquidate enemies into a fine sulphuric paste methodology the game was brutally relentless.

If Dmc3 were obliged to shack your partner’s hand it would steal them away, marry them, take both the house, your kids and the dog in the divorce settlement before you even introduced them. Enemies, though singularly were easy to resist relied on sheer numbers to overwhelm you, coordinating horde like advances that required crucial versatility of your progressively expansive artillery and proficiency in their utilisation. Almost every stage introduced a new foe or a variant to engage with, one that demanded an adaptation to an immediately redundant strategy. It was challenging and downright frustrating at times, yet satisfying in masochist kind of way. There was this energetic sophistication that made every recurrent button press seem urbane and graceful, even though I looked like an agitated shopper trying frantically to get my pin code to verify. The bosses too posed their own significant challenges, providing conflated dangers due to their embellished physicality and exceedingly hostile yet singular combat styles. Whether it was their inflated stature or malformed concepts, each boss looked and felt unique.

The gothic architecture and other garish aesthetics only compounded the real sense of encroaching peril, as the suppression of reality became more distorted and sense of isolation became an arresting anxiety, as Dante slowly navigated his way through this dilapidated tower that at times assumed a façade reminiscent of a cathedral. The ornate arches sweeping along corridors and elaborate doors played havoc with your sense of direction, becoming the games most persistent impediment. But as brooding and macabre the clustered environments appeared to be you could always rely on Dante to provide commentary and insight that, uttered by anyone else would sound derivative and cliché. Dmc3 for me portrayed the most realised interpretation of Dante, and really the first time he was given a personality. His pithy, petulance and egotistical proclivities somehow made him a more appealing character, exhibiting an abstract masculinity that was both irritating yet endearing. Not to mention a destructive sibling rivalry that could challenge even the Gallagher brothers enduring contempt.
The most compelling reason for elevated and coveted position on my top ten is an amalgamation of all these many formidable attributes, but it’s most perennial influence was its riff heavy, orchestral/metal soundtrack. The rousing orchestral tempo, fused with the aggressive fervour of metal punctuated every battle in this game to such an exhilarating degree. The soundtracks energizing compliment made every slice of your blade seem like the difference between life and death. I can still recite the individual themes for most the boss encounters including all 3 Dante VS Vergil iterations. In fact it’s a soundtrack I still listen too.

The series, at least for the time being is seemingly on a permanent hiatus, owing to the rather divisive nature of its passive re-imagining, which is sad and by no means a way to end my first entry into the top 10 most inspirational games. Instead here is one of my favourite scenes from Dmc3 that emphasises the absurd violence, humour and intoxicating awesomeness of this franchise. Cheers.

 

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#8. Tales Of Symphonia.

#9. TMNT’S II.