Blips: No Need

Source: It's a Little Bit Sad
Author: Jordan Mammo
Site: Unwinnable

In his recent post for Unwinnable, Jordan Mammo wonders why we're on the verge of a new console generation when this year's E3 failed to provide any justification. I found myself thinking the same in the wake of both Microsoft and Sony's big press conference unveilings. Both companies trotted out the typical talking points about how their latest luxury devices would beget innovation, more dynamic gameplay, and, inexplicably, better storytelling. While Sony at least showed a range of games that seemed interesting, neither made a convincing argument for new hardware.

A comment on Mammo's post notes that E3 is always a bunch of ceo-speak and that the games shown at press conferences aren't necessarily evocative of the best games the console will offer. Beyond that, launch games have a reputation for underwhelming, focusing instead on proof of concepts for new ideas or simply updating existing models with a new coat of paint. This is all true, but it's also the job of companies at events like this to prove that their product is worth buying at launch. With the turbulent, unpredictable console market on the verge of a massive saturation point, that "the good games will come," doesn't feel like as much of a guarantee. I'd buy a PS4 before I got an Xbox One, but I really just hope that Sony's corral of indie games are also playable on PS3 since they don't seem to require the more advanced hardware.

Still, I would love to be surprised. I would love to be excited by a console launch, to feel like I'd be missing out to not have one. That's not the case right now, but hey, both companies still have a few months to convince me otherwise.

Blips: Hunker Down

Source: Man Cave Fan Fiction
Author: Leigh Alexander
Site: Kotaku

Are video game consoles still relevant? Do people still want to pay hundreds of dollars to play a narrow set of graphically intense games on big TVs in their living rooms? Last week's Xbox One announcement saw Microsoft doubling down on the idea that their new console will be the latest and greatest all-in-one family entertainment center. This comes at a time when economic recovery is a slow burn and a luxurious new video game console will be launching into one of the most volatile, if not downright dire, markets for such devices. Can Microsoft muscle their way into a successful Xbox One install base? It feels like that's what they're trying to do.

If you've not seen Leigh Alexander's latest column for Kotaku, I'd encourage you to give it a read. In it she spins an apocalyptic vision of one man who, despite the rest of the world gone wrong, continues to worship at the foot of his entertainment altar, his new game console which acts as the centerpiece of his subterranean man cave. It's a Mountain Dew soaked, appropriately hyperbolic reflection of new video game consoles as survival bunkers for preserving old practices. For additional context, check out Alexander's scathing Gamasutra opinion piece on the Xbox One announcement, which makes the small details in her short story more resonant.

Now, while I continue to enjoy the TV console gaming experience, I'm not sold on the idea that I need a new one. Still, Alexander's allusion to the console gaming rig as entertainment altar is spot on, even if I'm a little embarrassed to admit it. When I moved to the DC area a few years ago, I came with very few things, none of which were furniture. However, I did pack a small TV and a couple boxes of video games and consoles. For eight months, my living room was barren except for a turbulent bundle of cords and LEDs atop a stow-away container, flickering like a little shrine.

As silly as that setup might sound, I mainly used it to play old games on old systems, nowhere near the personal entertainment basilica Microsoft seems to have in mind. The thing is, I use a more diverse array of gadgets for digital entertainment purposes than I did a decade ago, and if anything, my laptop is the all-purpose device that I plan on upgrading sometime later this year. So, at a time when I'm spending less and less time with my TV, Xbox One is asking me to spend more. At this stage in the messaging roll-out, that's not an idea I can get behind.

The Remake Impulse

A few weeks back I watched a gameplay video of Pressure, which had several qualities that reminded me of NES classic Bump 'N' Jump. Both involve driving vehicles down narrow alleys from a high perspective while sideswiping enemy cars before they have the chance to do the same to you. The two games have plenty of differences too, but they share a similar tone and spirit. Noting these parallels, I wrote a comment on the video that read, "Makes me wish someone would remake Bump 'N' Jump."

I stopped and considered the comment before publishing; why did I want a remake? I own Bump 'N' Jump. My NES is hooked up to my television. I could play Bump 'N' Jump right now if I wanted. If I instinctively desired to relive the experiences I'd had with the NES game, why would I need a new version of something I already have?

I rephrased my comment to say simply "This makes me want to play some Bump 'N' Jump." I felt this better reflected how I felt while watching Pressure, instead of sounding like a publishing executive pondering their next project (note: I am not a publishing executive). Much to my chagrin, my benign comment got a response. It read, "Now THAT's a game that needs a modern re-make [sic]." It seems the impulsive desire for remakes of old games is more widespread than I thought, and that's a problem.

There's nothing inherently wrong with remakes, and there are plenty of valid reasons to create them, but the hive-mind that is collectively conditioned to desire updates of old games instead of new original games is unhealthy. This kind of thinking suits risk-averse business models, not cultural enrichment or progressive design. Worse, it's historically revisionist, undercutting the relevance and competence of older games as they're deemed unsuitable for modern game systems. Game companies do this to themselves.

As you may have heard, there's a new SimCity out now; it's called SimCity (more on that in a minute). I haven't played the latest game, but news of its release brought back fond memories of past SimCity experiences. As a result, I've actually been playing a lot of SimCity 2000 lately. There was a sale on GOG that sold the game for pocket change, and gave me a version I could play on my MacBook.

It was confounding to listen to complaints about the most recent SimCity's launch woes knowing that an incredible version of the same game was also on the market, offering a proven, satisfying experience not unlike the core gameplay of the latest version. Every SimCity sequel is basically just a remake of the original build-a-city-from-scratch game. There is no continuation from one title to the next. You can't bring your SimCity 2000 metropolis into this year's game, as cool as that would be, so you must begin your town anew.

So, because the newest SimCity game is called SimCity (the same title as the original 1989 game), the 2013 version is considered a reboot of the franchise. In the market, it takes over the original's place as well as all previous remakes. Since there is no continuity between titles, players who are new to the series are encouraged to play the most recent game without the need for historical context. It's a shame because the latest game isn't always the most compelling take on a specific series. SimCity 2000 was recently acquired by the Museum of Modern Art in New York, not 3000, not 4, and not even the original. While the game market is driven primarily in one direction, players should have the ability to zag between past and present at will.

Maybe the new games-as-service model will change this going forward; it's hard to say, but I think that's part of the general idea with the new SimCity. If there's more persistence across platform changes, then the game can adapt as it goes instead of constantly cutting off its own legs. Also, it's worth noting that consoles are far, far worse when it comes to conservation agility, and despite marketing and perception issues, at least I am able to purchase and play on a modern machine, a game from 1994 that I used to run off a 3.5" floppy disk.

Let's return to the original question I asked myself in the comments thread: Why did I instinctively wish for a remake of Bump 'N' Jump? I like old-school graphics just as much as photo-realistic showpieces. I don't care about Achievements, DLC, or online multiplayer modes. The parts that I'd enjoy in a new Bump 'N' Jump would likely be the elements I enjoyed in the original game, and I already own it! While iterations of a game like SimCity can become more complex to granular detail, Bump 'N' Jump already delivers on the two elements it promises in its title. The answer to my question doesn't seem to reside within the game itself.

The impulse to want a remake, in my case, seems largely a product of market conditioning. The necessity of this is a very Star Wars Special Edition way of thinking. It only makes financial sense to develop games for current popular systems that make use of the latest technological innovations. That's where the tech-lust is. That's where the money is. In video games, as with Star Wars, these innovations are largely aesthetic and don't change the principal characteristics that define what a work is. Still, there is a sexiness, a desirability in whatever the new thing is.

It's a difficult mentality to break away from, one that's ingrained in me and others with similar knee-jerk reactions. This is an instinct that I have consciously been attempting to fight against. I've previously written about my experience being a "last-gen gamer" and the rewarding perspective I gained during that time. I only wish console makers would do more to make their caches of older games more accessible, taking greater stock in their own legacy. Is this an incredibly complicated task? No doubt. But would it go a long way to securing sustainable cultural capital for video games as a medium? Absolutely.

:top image modified from original by Eric Kieboom:

Confessions of a Last-Gen Gamer

Back in September, Sony unveiled a third body design for the PlayStation 3 (PS3) console, which left many game journalists puzzled, or at best, indifferent.  There was no headline-grabbing price drop, despite the system being constructed from cheaper materials.  The timing was odd and anticlimactic: too far away from a projected PS4 release next holiday season, yet somehow too close.  Maybe Sony wanted a new piece of hardware on shelves to counteract the Wii U launch.  If nothing else, a cheaper manufacturing assembly could only improve the PS3's per-unit profitability, a problem for Sony since the console debuted in 2006  Speculation went on, but the big question was "who is this for?"

The answer: me.  I live and breathe games, but I've yet to own a PlayStation 3 or Xbox 360, until now.  It's a little embarrassing to admit this in the age where anyone who talks about games first must prove their "gamer cred."  But it's true, for the past 6 years, I've been a "last-gen gamer."  With my new PS3 this year, I've finally entered the current generation of consoles.  It didn't have anything to do with the console redesign, just that this was finally the right time for me.

For years I got by just fine, discovering older games that I never had the chance to play, while keeping abreast of current game culture through various podcasts, news feeds, reviews, and feature stories instead of actually playing the titles being discussed.  On the upside, there are so many interesting older games that I could dedicate time to, instead of overlooking them in favor of the constant cycle of zeitgeist-of-the-week titles.  For a long time, I was quite content to revel in undiscovered 8 and 16-bit treasures, absorbing Mass Effects and Assassin's Creeds from the sidelines.  Sure, I've missed those big communal gaming moments, like the collective puzzle-solving of Fez upon release, but that was all part of the gamble.  However, since I spend so much time and effort writing about games, it became clear that I could no longer hang back.

In large part my decision to withhold buying a current generation console until now was based on money.  I was a PS2 loyalist from launch who wanted nothing to do with Xbox and it's giant jewels-for-buttons Halo controllers.  This was also high school, so let's not dwell on biases.  Naturally, I was interested in continuing the legacy by purchasing a PS3 in 2006, but the $600 price point was a nonstarter.  I was then a very recent college graduate, trying to practice personal fiscal responsibility and independence.  I didn't want to throw down that kind of money on something as seemingly frivolous as a new video game console, especially when the price of games also increased to $60 from 50.  The PS3 was even too expensive to feel comfortable asking for as a birthday gift from my parents.  Besides, for that kind of money I'd rather have invested toward something truly extravagant like an arcade cabinet or a pinball machine.  I knew from history that console prices eventually lower; they always had.  I figured I could just wait for Sony to come to me, but that wait was much, much longer than I expected.

Despite this, being a last-gen gamer isn't depressing like you might think.  In fact, during my current-gen fast I discovered several substantial benefits of forgoing day-one-purchase culture.

1: Hindsight.  2012 alone has seen the release of hundreds of games—far too many for a single person to play in one year.  Coming to a console after-the-fact means I can easily select the critical standouts and avoid the noise.  Games are a unique medium when it comes to the quality of sequels, often iterating on their predecessors, improving functionality and addressing unresolved issues from the previous title.  If I can buy LittleBigPlanet 2, I really don't need the first one.  This logic doesn't apply to all franchises, but is especially applicable to sequels plagued by critical labels like "more of the same" which were otherwise touted as technical improvements.  I spend less time and money, but still get the best of a particular brand of experience.

2: Cheap games.  This one's pretty simple.  I don't need to spend more than $20 for new, in-box retail games that originally sold for 3 times as much.  Deluxe reissues and trilogy collections abound, including DLC add-ons for a fraction of what they would have cost a la carte upon debut.  As for downloadable games, they're digital, so there's no "limited pressing" impulse buy.  Digital supply is virtually unlimited, so there's no need for consumers to rush out and pay a premium for fear that a game might be hard to come by later.  Plus, even downloadable games go on sale from time to time.  This isn't even taking into account used games, which can reduce costs even further, despite having to deal with blocked online modes and anti-resale DRM.

3: Avoid the hype.  It's refreshing to exist outside of the realm of tech-lust.  In fact, I'd say I'm more appreciative and caring of the technology I do possess because I'm more invested in its longevity.  Part of the appeal for early adopters of new technology is the sexiness and air of luxury that comes with owning something few but the elite crop of die-hards have.  Perhaps it's just come as a part of getting older, but I don't feel an intense need to be a member of that club anymore.  I like new stuff, but if a product is built for the long haul, it'll still be around when a purchase becomes more personally convenient.

The wait-and-see approach has its downsides though.  Conversations about current games are richer when drawn from the physical experience of actually playing them.  Even with a background in previous console generations, I can only assume so much based on descriptive video footage and commentary.  Also, much the way services like Netflix and Hulu have been accused of killing the simple pleasures and unexpected discovery of channel surfing, a last-gen gamer making the leap forward is more likely to invest in a "greatest hits" game collection than try out B-tier titles that try something unique, but flounder on the overall package.  For example, I may give the supposedly provocative, yet middling shooter, Spec Ops: The Line, a shot someday, but it's certainly not on my initial list of must-plays.

Ultimately, I recommend being a last-gen gamer, at least for one console generation.  It was a great run — I've learned quite a bit about my own consumer preferences and have observed the video game industry from a more objective, disconnected perspective.  As long as you're not a collector, last-gen gaming is a super cheap way to maintain a gaming hobby.  I've only joined the corporate-indoctrinated fray because writing about games has become more than a recreational exercise for me, and at some point I was missing essential tools for the job.  There's not one correct way to play or interpret games, and by extension, there is a diversity of gamers who consume games at their own pace.  I don't know if there are enough last-gen gamers out there to make an impact on the video game marketplace, but no matter—flying under he radar is sort of the point. 

:image modified from The Daily Mail: