Being a solo gamer in a multiplayer world

Being a gamer over 30 means that you likely fell in love with gaming a long time ago. For me, that affair started around age 6, as my uncle showed me the Atari and I prowled through his Commodore 64 collection, wondering what the stone that came with Wishbringer was really for and fantasizing about kicking the sh*t out of Zork for not understanding my commands.

While a lot of kids turn to games as a way to share fun with their peers, in the time period I discovered games, they were very much the opposite for me -- since I was a bookworm and a bit of a loner, games were more like an escape -- a place where I could be alone and yet not quite alone, and have an adventure with friends that, while not real flesh-and-blood people, provided some of the most important friendships I ever had.

Twenty years later, the future is pointing at an age of gaming in which all of our activities are shared -- from friend lists to Microsoft's recent addition of parties, you are always accessible for multiplayer games, chat and more. In fact, games, like LittleBigPlanet focus mostly on user content and online play, taking all focus away from the single-player adventure.

These are all great advancements and certainly follow the flow of current technology to interconnect our world as completely as possible, but where in this new world is there a place for the solo gamer, one who not only enjoys the experience of playing a game alone, but actually (gasp) holds those gaming experiences above those he or she has with other players?
People who are fans of multiplayer games are already talking back, I know it -- you're saying, "If you don't want to play with other people, just don't sign into Xbox Live!" And you know, you're right. I don't have to do that. In fact, despite the fact I love to game alone, I do also sometimes enjoy playing with other people, and I do enjoy the ability to interconnect with them so easily at any time.

The thing is, people who have never been heavy into the solo experience in a game are just not going to get it. Why play a game alone when you could play it with other people? That's like going to a movie alone. Which, of course, I also enjoy doing. Often.

A common complaint about the recent RPG Fallout 3 touches a little bit on the "why" of what solo gamers passionately pursue. Some gamers said they disliked the beginning of the game in which your character grows up in the Vault, where you are surrounded by other people. Personally I found that when I escaped the Vault and got out into the open landscape, I found what I was looking for: the experience of feeling completely alone on an adventure that you are wholly responsible for.

I suppose it's a lot like reading a book. There's an almost reverential quality to the experience, because even though thousands of other people will read the same book, the unique way you will process it and how it will affect you is all yours. While total immersion into a game enviroment is being praised in games like Dead Space, solo gamers have to laugh -- we've had total immersion in the games we've played for a few decades now, not because of advanced graphics or sound, but because of our isolation and imaginations.

Because of my experiences as a solo gamer, I traveled with Crono and his friends and enjoyed their company as if they were my friends, I mourned the death of Nei in a way that actually prepared me to face real loss later in life (laughable, I know, but true), and I learned some pretty valuable lessons about life in general.

I think if I had had friends to share these games with at the time, I wouldn't have had the amount of free time to devote my attention to them in the same way. I would have been more distracted by those real-life interactions, and while that wouldn't have been a bad thing, I don't regret being an isolated gamer back then. I think the inability to share these gaming experiences with other people made them even more special to me -- and I believe the people who listen faithfully to RetroforceGO! on a weekly basis may understand exactly what I am trying to say here.

So yeah, I'm glad that today I can turn on my 360 and be instantly connected to a hundred friends who can invite me to parties, chat with me and enjoy games with me in real time. I think that rocks, and I'm so grateful that I'm getting to experience something like that in my lifetime. At the same time, some days I'm going to go buy a game, come home, turn out all the lights and make sure that I'm not signed on to anything that shows other people I'm there. While it may not measure up to being verbally abused by strangers on Xbox Live, I still kind of enjoy it.

The Difficulty Arc: How frustration ruins the gameplay experience

The scenario: You, controller in hands, sitting on the sofa, staring at your television with a mixed expression of frustration and anger. You've hit a point in a game where you can't get any further, you don't want the strategy guide, you don't want to go pull up Gamefaqs. You just want to figure the wretched thing out so you can get on with the game you were enjoying up to this point.

The moment is as simultaneously recognizable and detestable as catching a fleeting glance of an ex at a party. The more you try to figure out how to advance, the less enthusiasm you have. It gets to a point where before you even pick up the controller to try again, you can feel it in your stomach -- a kind of grudge you don't even notice developing until it's in full effect. Before you know it, you don't pick up the game anymore at all.

This frustrating little phenomenon is the Difficulty Arc, a slippery slope where wonderful games can easily lose their footing and fall to their death, never to be played again. That perfect marriage of conflict and reasonable challenge rarely find their balance on the Arc. Only the best games manage to delicately hover there, poised as a hummingbird before a flower fat with pollen.

Let's begin with a little video (because somehow pictoral examples make everything seem a bit more realistic.)

Ah yes, that moment. While it rarely gets that bad, sometimes it happens. Perhaps partially the fault of the gamer in question (that lad seems to have some anger management issues.) Regardless, the issue here to focus on is not the gamer but the game: Envision a well-adjusted young man or woman of about 30, sitting with controller in hand seriously fantasizing taking the disc out of the console and hurling it out the window like a shuriken with murderous intent.

What I'm proposing here is that one of the biggest faults of games today is finding the right spot on the Difficulty Arc -- a space that is neither too hard or too easy. Now, all gamers differ, so they can hardly all be satisfied by the same exact point on the Arc, yes? BioShock is an excellent example of the use of difficulty settings: I would have become extremely frustrated (enough so to deter me from the story) had the hard diffuculty been the average, but thanks to the normal, I was able to enjoy the story first and go back to the hard setting later.

One of the worst failings of bad placement on the Arc is when frustration makes a gamer quit altogether. This often happens with excellent games, which seems to me to be a sorry shame. My personal memory of this moment is with Chrono Cross for the PS1. You can beat the last boss in a straightforward fashion, or you can beat it in a complex way, which nets you the best ending. The latter challenge was so elaborately ridiculous that I gave up after a few tries. The frustration here was more mental than physical -- The equivalent of attempting to find a single paper in stacks of thousands.

The physical form of Difficulty Arc failure is more a matter of personal skill and adaption to a game. For instance, some gamers hated the Myst series, citing the puzzles as ridiculously difficult. Others whipped out their graph paper and mapped out elaborate puzzles with relish. Some games have a reputation for being insanely difficult, such as Ikaruga for the Gamecube. This is hardly a failing on the part of the developers, as the title is intentionally intended to be a tremendous challenge.

Dementium: The Ward presents a more recent form of structural slippage on the Arc. The game allows you to save your progress, but you must begin at the start of the chapter each time you die. Sometimes, this isn't such a big deal. After trekking through the entire level to kill the boss six times only to die when you get there and be whisked back to the start, forced to repeat all the same crap, is just a recipe for frustration. This echoes the NES era, but even most of those titles employed checkpoints, rewarding you for your progress and effort. Dementium is a fantastic title, but it did test my patience and I have to admit to putting it down a lot due to that.

Of course, some gamers will tell you they've never been frustrated enough to quit playing a game because of difficulty level (they're likely lying or androids posing as human beings.) You're not a gamer until you've thrown a controller at the TV and screamed SHITFUCKJESUSHOLYASSCOCK loud enough for your neighbor to hear you and look at you oddly the next time you pass them in the hallway. It's simply a classic rite of passage for the digitally addicted. I actually hit a friend in the face with a flying NES controller while playing Super Mario 3 once ... still feel a bit guilty about that.

This is not a rally to encourage harder games to take a hike. Rather, it's a picture of a consistent issue in gaming today: The balance of challenge and difficulty is a delicate one, and to ensure a title is truly enjoyable, there must be a flow to the gameplay. By interrupting this flow with unnecessary amounts of frustration, you are taking the gamer out of the gameplay experience -- exactly what you don't want to do.

I hope the next gen of gaming stands up to the challenge of making more game conflicts that are less ridiculous and more reason, offer level difficulty selection more often, and keep in mind how difficulty works with or against the immersive quality of the title. As long as I'm wishing for stuff I'd also like a miniature pony, a mint condition Delorean and the ability to teleport at will, but for now I'll settle for a few controller-hurling titles that are still within the boundaries of reason. I will try not to hit anyone in the face with controllers again, although it's likely best if the cursing and screaming begin to just get out of the way.

A Thousand Years of Dreams: Mortality in Lost Odyssey

While playing RPGs, I have encountered situations that sometimes predated me having the same experiences in real life. As a little girl, the first of these I found was comradery, which took me a while to find since I was the bookworm type. This infused the games I played with a sort of private and thrilling magic, which hasn't entirely worn off to this day.

While Mistwalker's new RPG Lost Odyssey does follow the conventions of many other RPGs, it sets itself apart with a feature called A Thousand Years of Dreams, in which you recollect the experiences of your character's past. We've all played games that introduce to our characters' memories, but since Lost Odyssey's Kaim is immortal, the memories are suffused with something more: the absence of mortality.

Much like BioShock and its underlying moral themes, Lost Odyssey presents the player with a richer experience which I believe is the future of RPGs: graphical superiority, yes, but more importantly, having the ability to engage our mortality, including our sense of what it is to be human. Welcome to the next generation -- playing games with the ability to excite your senses, engage your emotions and grasp your own transience.

Hit the jump for more.

Depending on how long you've played RPGs, you may have a very specific expectation of what you want in one. Since I've played them on and off for the last twenty years, I'll chuck a formulaic RPG out the window faster than a hooker administers a BJ. Usually, playing the same old structure isn't enough to hold my interest through eighty hours of game time. At this point, there has to be something different, something that can shake me up enough to make an impact.

Enter A Thousand Years of Dreams, in which the immortal lead character Kaim recalls his memories one by one throughtout the course of the game. Like many other RPGs in which the lead character has lost his memories (ahemcloudahem,) we are intended to develop an emotional attachment about the character we are playing because of his or her past. Since you are playing on a modern console, you would think that Lost Odyssey uses superior graphic capability to its advantage to tell the stories of Kaim's memories, no?

It doesn't.

Instead, the developers made a braver choice: they tell the stories using only words.

I can see you reading this now and saying "Words? Like on the page of a book? LAME!" I have two words for you -- you're wrong. It isn't lame at all; in fact, it's the most elegant tactic I've seen used in an RPG since Final Fantasy VII's Cloud Strife floated in a dream world and remembered he wasn't who he thought he was. Instead of taking the obvious route, it does something games did before there were graphics to support them -- tells you an amazing story and leaves your imagination to fill in the rest.

The irony of this approach is palpable. Gamers have been complaining more and more as of late that they don't want to have to read a bucket of text, and now here I am telling you that it's the best thing since goat rape. Luckily, those gamers can skip the dream sequences altogether and still enjoy the action, which is solid enough on its own. The dreams are the best part of the game and flesh out the main story with depth and emotion, but if you want to leave that behind, that's your loss.

This nearly literary approach could possibly be effective on its own, but it is accentuated by something that completes the package: writing brave enough to delve deep into Kaim's lifespan, reflecting back startlingly painful bits of immortality and leaving you starkly aware of the vulnerability of human life. It has been a long time since a game has actually reached my emotions in any way, but Lost Odyssey has finally done it, reminding me that it's worth it to sift through all these RPGs after all.

A Thousand Years of Dreams taps into the very spirit of what makes RPGs great, which is why I can say that I see the future of next gen adventure gaming in its courageous approach. As we come closer and closer to playing games that are indistinguishable from our real lives, they will also have to step up to the plate when it comes to matching the human spirit. Literature and film have long probed topics like mortality and humanity, but games are still new to the territory.

Does this mean that every RPG has to send us into a spiral of existential crisis, leaving us wondering who and what we are and why we live human life? No. Obviously this is heavy stuff, and not always what we want to spend our free time on. Used sparingly however, it can create a gaming experience that is the most realistic gamers have ever encountered. Combine that with graphical prowess, and you have a truly modern interactive experience. Let's hope the anti-game crusaders have prepared well -- they aren't ready for what is to come.

Intelligence and games: a poor pairing?

Today I read an article about the top games of 2007 in the UK. The chart itself was very different from the popular titles of the United States, but that's to be expected. The biggest difference, as noted by the author of the article, was that 2K's award winning shooter was nowhere to be seen on the UK list. This caused a great deal of discussion among readers of the article. In one disturbing reply, one reader commented in regards to BioShock: "It was a FANTASTIC title, but I'm sure all of this talk about noir, Art Deco, and objectivist undertones must have turned a few of the people off who regard games as day-end relief and not an exercise in artistry. "

While the statement is a factual one, I found myself revisiting it over and over in my thoughts, having discovered a sticking point about it that truly bothered me. I felt true indignation at the idea of being "turned off" by BioShock. The title was the very definition of an intellectual gaming experience - a rich storyline meshed with highly addictable gameplay mechanics. It made an unforgettable impact on me last year, and this article and comment provided a shocking contrast to that, shaking me outside of my own thoughts and into those of others for a few moments.

While it's perfectly understandable that a gamer may not always want a rich, thoughtful gaming experience and sometimes craves something simpler, it's unthinkable for me that a game like BioShock is not a welcome addition to our industry as a whole. More disturbing is the underlying concept, which suggests that "intelligent" games are looked down upon as a nuisance by some people.

I have days where I want to settle down and play a game where all I do is kill shit as much as the next guy. In the case of titles like Diablo, these can be addicting experiences than I go back to again and again. However, twenty of years of playing games puts me in a place where I do crave newness from the hobby I love, and bigger and better versions of what have come before don't always hit the nail on the head. Dynamic storytelling, however, can make all the difference.

If gamers look down on this, and all they want is more of the same, they crush some part of the very craft that creates the things that we cherish. I beg you - if you play games, and they have made a difference in your life, want more for their future than this. In order to continue, games have to be allowed to evolve, and supported by the people who love what they are. You don't have to personally play games like BioShock, but for the love of fucking Christ, use your eyes and see how they have helped break boundaries and push games to be more. They deserve your respect.

The Endgame Syndrome; Why do we abandon games?

As most of my Destructoid compatriots know, I await RPGs with intriguing storylines more than any other type of game. I enjoy nothing more than to sink myself into a rich plot, get to know the characters, and most of all, experience some form of emotional fulfillment at the end of the story for the work I've put into playing it. To my surprise, the last few I have looked forward to I've gotten fifty to sixty hours into and then simply never picked up again. Why this sudden transformation from game committment to total disinterest?

I clearly remember finishing a lot of the games I played for the NES, and I can't blame it on scarcity of product. Between friends that generously shared large cartridge collections and the game rental store down the street (Performance Hobby! I salute you), I played hundreds of games released for the system during its lifespan. Since I started playing often when I was about ten or so, I know I had the free time to complete them, but it seems to me something more was at work as to why I finished those games.

In the case of the games I was most driven to complete, I was so absorbed in them that I thought about them even when I wasn't playing them. Other new releases didn't get in the way because I wasn't interested in them until I completed the one I was playing. Chrono Trigger and Final Fantasy X were great examples. I held them akin to reading a great book - by reading other books at the same time, you distilled the purity of the experience of the story.

In the current state of gaming, releases come out so frequently that we constantly have new "stories" to choose from. The biggest catalyst of "Endgame Syndrome" is definitely this factor. Since production values and budgets have risen to new heights, most games are gorgeous to look at. Some argue that one must wade in a sea of pretty games to try to find the ones that are worthwhile, so consumers are constantly sifting through large amounts of content and don't have the patience to spend on completing a game.

Another major factor seems to be length. BioShock was completely engaging, yet presented the story in a shorter timeframe. The more time you have in which to tell a story, the more challenges one faces to keep a gamer engaged. Considering the average attention span is twenty minutes, it's no small feat to create a game that can remain interesting to a player after 40 hours of play. Structural variance is also a key -- If you're doing more or less the same actions for the majority of the game, are they fun to do?

Most difficult of all is the experience of playing an enjoyable game and then abandoning it after committing many hours to the storyline. Eternal Sonata, I'm sad to say, fell into this category. I was pleased with the story, but I didn't think about it when it wasn't in front of me. It leaves you feeling disappointed when Endgame Syndrome kicks in in these instances. I did want to see the ending, but the drive to do so just evaporated, leaving me as confused as waking up naked with an otter. ( I need to stop drinking at those Zoo-To-Do events.)

Is it that games aren't what they used to be, or is it that gamer attention spans have shortened over time? I fear that some of both are present, although I am always hoping to be pleasantly surprised. The shape of the industry that creates these games has dramatically changed. In 1985, few people would have dreamed that games would one day rival the film industry. As a result, more experimental projects may have turned into playable results, which at the very least promoted creativity.

Whatever the secret formula is, recent feedback proves even RPG giant Square-Enix can't always hit the nail on the head anymore. Avoiding Endgame Syndrome is simply a matter of being choosy about what titles you take home -- and even then, there's no ensuring you'll feel the spark. For me, those unforgettable stories that are worth finishing are worth the search, no matter how many duds I have to sort through to get there.

Video Game crushes: Wanting to rape your imaginary friends

After five hours of Eternal Sonata, I can finally admit it to myself: I have a crush on Frederic Chopin. Before you start laughing, think back over all the games you've played. Maybe you were so absorbed in the storyline you didn't even realize it. Put down your controller in hushed reverance for all of Sephiroth's cut scenes? Waited patiently for all the moments you could get extra glimpses of Lara's endowments? Maybe your heart even fluttered any time Balthier was dashing and debonair, dangerously straddling the line between androgny and rampant homosexuality. Either way, more of you are guilty of this crime than you'd like to admit: The Video Game Crush.

Your average non-gamer (or even some gamers who have never experienced the phenomenon) will be quick to say,"Why would you get a crush on someone who isn't even real? That''s stupid." Stupid, perhaps, but I can't help but think about all the imaginary people I'll fallen a little in love with, and not just in video games. Ender Wiggin in the Orson Scott Card novels is one of my long standing not-real crushes. How can any logical person find themselves in this position? The answer is simple: The heart is not logical, and a video game is an ideal setting to entertain illogical things. You're already flying along the coast of the Etrian Sea Universe in an armored flying narwhale wearing a crown of igloos, so why not fall in love with the Princess of Obscuria?

It also seems that when we play games, we get to meet many characters who we will never meet the real life equivalent of. I am pretty much assured that I will never meet anyone as metrosexual as the Final Fantasy boys until I head straight to the streets of Harajuku, so it makes sense that those characters might be a little fascinating. As far as female crushworthy characters are concerned, the formula is even simpler: Few real world women kick ass and look as sexy doing it as the Lara Crofts and Chun Lis of the world. Then there's the sweet and helpless formula, which Aerith of Final Fantasy fame is the reigning queen of. She looks so sweet while she's being stabbed through the chest with a sword, doesn't she?

Some people think it's ridiculous, but in my mind having a crush on a character in a game is as normal as getting choked up when a great game ends. If the character designers meshed well with the writers and did their job right, they created characters that were ultimately real enough to emotionally engage you -- something that seems to be getting harder and harder in RPGs every day. It's a compliment to their skills that I can't stop thinking about that dreamy Chopin. The voice actors, of course, are the glue that holds it all together. In a modern era of gaming that makes fully voice acted games the norm, they bring these characters to life or leave them behind to blend into the scenery.

So, got a crush? You can admit it. It's okay. Unless your crush happens to be Pyramid Head, in which case you're an ill little gerbil and really should be confined to a damp room with no doors. Really, it takes all kinds.

Eternal Sonata initial impressions

The only thing that could excite me after the holy sacrament of scrumptiousness that was BioShock was a good solid RPG. I was expecting something a little more utilitarian as RPGs have not broken the mold much lately, so it was a great surprise to play Eternal Sonata at E3 and find not only an exquisitely beautiful title, but one that seemed to have a truly unique storyline as well. I raced to the store today and snatched up the last copy, eager to dive headfirst into the game.

As shallow as it is, I have to say it: For a dying guy, Chopin is SMOKIN HAWT. I think it's his voice actor making it so, as I want to melt his voice into sweet cream butter and rub it all over my nubile flesh. Now that we've gotten my kinky bits out of the way, I don't have to keep making unintelligible references throughout this article. Eternal Sonata is ten times as beautiful in actual play as it is in screenshots and clips -- for some reason, they can't seem to do justice to this title. Playing the first few minutes literally feels as if you've submerged into a completely different universe, which is something RPGs have been failing at a lot lately. Of course, atmosphere can only go so far.

The first half hour of play is as story heavy as you might expect. While the demo may lead you to believe the game will be very simplistic, there is a rich story concept at the heart here. I expected nothing left from a game that is about the dreams of a dying composer, but it's nice to see the story unfolding well even at this early stage. Players annoyed by cut scenes may be bothered and want to get to the gameplay, but luckily these scenes can be skipped if you like. They add a lot to the story though, so be warned you may miss some great details if you do.

So far the fighting is good, but I wouldn't go as far as to call it great. I like the free range movement and the way the attacks feel while landing, but the initial few areas have you meet the same creature through the level over and over, and the battles get a bit repetitive. I'm hoping as music becomes more involved, it will help with this. Turn based fighting can kill a game in the modern player's eyes, so it needs something to keep it interesting (demonstrated beautifully in the old PS1 title The Legend of Dragoon.)

Bottom line: If you love RPGs, pick it up. It's beautiful, the story is interesting and so far the play is comfortable. I'm fascinated with the use of music and can't wait to learn how to use it. Frankly, regardless of whatever the games' weaknesses may be (listed here or not), it beats the hell out of fighting poop monsters in Blue Dragon. Whose idea was an enemy made of poop, anyway?

Cho Aniki Seinaru Protein Densetsu translates to "Shoot your Holy Protein in my face"

I'm joking. Partially. I was browsing about the interwebs today when I stumbled upon this gem and felt I needed to enlighten any readers that are not privy to the delights of the Cho Aniki series. For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, Cho Aniki is a shooter series famous for its large army of greased, muscled, suggestively homoerotic men doing suggestively homoerotic things. It debuted in 1992 on the TurboGrafx 16 and has been wreaking its own special brand of WTF? over Japan ever since. (Actually, considering the Japanese culture, they probably don't blink twice at this title.)

Fascinated yet? If you feel strangely drawn to the concept, I have just the thing for you: the fabulous Hudson has announced that they are going to be releasing Cho Aniki as one of the first of a series of Turbografx CD and TurboGrafx Duo titles coming to the virtual console, along with Y's Book I and II. It likely will not be Cho Aniki Seinaru Protein Densetsu, as there are more popular games in the series, but can you imagine using the Wiimore to shoot your 'Holy Protein" around? CAN YOU? Releases like this are likely stabbing the collector's market in its theoretical face, but there will always be those people that have the have Cho Aniki mint in box with collectible figurine of greased nude male with flowerpot growing from head.

[Via Kotaku]