Not One Sparrow Shall Fall...

You may not know Mary Doria Russell, or her book The Sparrow. It was released in 1996 and it received strong reviews and a few rewards, but its mix of heavy theology, deep tragedy and science fiction doesn’t lend itself to a wide readership. If you are a person who is fascinated by questions of faith and encounters with extra-terrestrial life, I can’t recommend the book highly enough. The closest cultural reference I can think of is the film Contact, except that the ending makes more sense and it ends like an Italian Opera. I’m really not spoiling anything; at least, no more than Russell spoils herself.

A humble, muted cover, but it does a good job of announcing the Novel's theological nature. 

The book progresses along two narratives and they both revolve around the life of Emilio Sandoz. The first begins in 2059 introduces Sandoz as a man who has been mentally and physically broken by his journey to another world. The second thread begins in 2019, and gives us the history leading up to said mission, and eventually, choice details from the mission itself. As you would expect, these two threads alternate, with a cadre of priests trying to tease details out of the tortured Sandoz. It’s interesting to note that in the readers guide included in my copy, Russell acknowledges the hardest part of writing the story was the pacing, which I think is the novel’s greatest weakness, but more on that in a bit.

The greatest strength of the novel is Russell’s varied experiences in science, anthropology and biology. It’s a pleasure to read books written by intelligent people, particularly when those intelligent people are willing to grapple with lots of different issues in the same book. Despite having a vocabulary that includes words like “australopithecine,” Russell’s prose is aggressively readable and usually quite clean. She is not a wordsmith by trade however, and that is evident in a few descriptions that come across as bombastic while others are rather unclear, but on the whole the book is very accessible. I also liked the fact that Russell doesn’t over-emphasize the fantastic technology used in her book. She strikes a nice balance between existing technology, like SETI satellite arrays to speculative stuff like AI vultures and mass driver propulsion systems. Technobabble rarely, if ever, takes a front seat in the narrative, allowing readers to focus on the interpersonal, and inter-species issues that arise from the book.

Russell’s most fascinating thought experiment is the idea of dual sentient habitation.  Rakhat is inhabited by two intelligent species of animals; the  Runa, peaceful but simple minded herbivores, and the Jana’ata, cunning, carnivorous creatures who have successfully domesticated the more plentiful Runa. Inventing a planet with just one new species is an impressive feat of world building; doing two at once is extremely impressive. Russell also demonstrates the world she developed impressively by giving us access to the alien’s perspectives on a couple occasions.

The heart of the book lies with the humans though. Emilio Sandoz is intelligent, conflicted, charming and passionate, and he goes through several appreciable stages of change throughout the novel. The leading lady, Sofia Mendes, is one of the best modern female characters you will find outside of Stieg Larson’s Millennium Trilogy. Another interesting revelation the reader’s guide revealed, is that Emilio and Sofia were “their own characters” while Russell borrowed the voices of real people for many of the other characters. I initially liked Anne, a character Russell implies is based on herself, but she becomes steadily less interesting as the plot progressed. Other characters had their share of faults as well. DW and George weren’t flat, but blandly affable, and many of the other characters on the mission essentially  serve as Red Shirts; dying to demonstrate the dangers of the hostile world. In the present day story arc, John Candotti, Sandoz’s advocate and friend, steals the show, along with Father Voelker, a poisonous prick of a character.

Despite the successes of characters and her dual species thought experiment, Russell falls short in her goal to explore the idea of first contact with a foreign culture given the benefit of hindsight. The missionaries to Rakhat take very few precautions regarding disease and infection as they interact with the Runa. Another issue that makes the book feel rather dated is that none of the bright, forward ever considers the possibility of large scale human colonization on Rakhat. Given the dire-straights of our current ecological situations, such considerations would be inescapable. These issues are never addressed in any great detail, and the novel dates itself as a result.

As I mentioned earlier, my biggest problem with the novel is the pacing, particularly toward the end of the novel, though discussing why will involve a long list of spoilers. Russell kills Anne and DW in one sudden, swift stroke and while their deaths are handled carefully and given some pause for reflection, the plot defenestrates itself as far as pacing is concerned. Everybody else except Sandoz is killed off as a campaign of widespread infanticide sweeps across the planet. Russell doesn’t give the reader any time to come to grips with the deaths of Sofia and Jimmy, which strikes me as a cop-out, given how emotionally complicated their relationship with Sandoz was. Russell is just getting warmed up though. Immediately after the genocide, Sandoz is tortured to the point of losing the use of his hands, and brutally raped. Finally, because all that isn’t enough, he accidentally kills one of the alien children he had befriended. He is then sent back to Earth alone. Which invites a problematic, question: If Sandoz had lost the use of his hands, how the hell did he feed himself during the several years he was flying back home?

That’s the only obvious logical fallacy the book suffers from, though seeing how this is a book about Jesuits flying to an alien world before anybody else, there are a couple moments in the plot that taxed my suspension of disbelief. The book actually tries to turn these long odds to its advantage by having characters reflect upon spiritual significance of the improbability of their situation. It’s a gambit that half pays off. Judging from the title, which is a reference to Matthew 10:29-31, the book seems to imply that God is at work in the novel. Russell never comes out and says it, in fact, she seems to imply that Sandoz may not believe in God at the end of his experiences, or that he may believe in God and hate him. Readers get no firm theological explanation for the travesties that Sandoz suffers, but I think that's one of the strengths of the book. That’s essentially the point of the novel; to raise questions about faith, and make the reader realize there is no easy answer where religion is concerned. I like a book that asks questions rather than forcing answers down the reader’s throat, especially when the book is a work of science fiction, and the answers to questions are loaded with dogma.

If you’re the type who doesn’t mind a little God, or even the possibility of little God in your science fiction, give The Sparrow a read. I have yet to read the sequel, but if I do, I'll let you know if its any good.

Strange Magic

It's terribly hard to talk about magic and books without bringing up The Boy Who Lived, especially if the book in question is British. I'm especially guilty of this. I mean, look for godsakes! I've gone and brought him up before I could even tell you what other book I'm talking about. For shame! Bad writer. No Biscuit. Anyway, there is magic to be found in Britain beyond Hogwarts, as proved by Susanna Clarke's Johnathan Strange and Mr. Norrell.

It is a rightly celebrated book that's been out for a few years now, and while it's not nearly as accessible and inherently joyful as Rowling's septology, it is also more Literary. Therefore you can read it and then tell people you read it, and then feel smug about yourself even though it's a book about magic and that sort of thing is generally not something you're supposed to be proud of reading. Think of it as the opposite pole on the fantasy spectrum from Twilight: A grownup book for earnest readers who appreciate complicated characters, nuanced relationships and smart prose.

This is a fine cover. It was enough to get me curious about the book and once I read the jacket, I knew I had to read the rest.

The book is also very much a period piece. A Victorian period piece set amidst the Napoleonic Wars no less; a scenario some might consider the 'periodest' of period pieces. Consequently, the writing is not streamlined to suit the modern tastes of text messaging and net slang. The stilted properness of the era feels like it has been slightly exaggerated to poke fun at itself. Clarke has more in common with Austen and Dickens than Rowling, Lewis or Carroll. The book is thoroughly contemporary in it's fusion of society and magic, however, a trend that currently dominates the fantasy genre. There is also a wink of meta-fiction in Clarke's writing. The entire book is riddled with footnotes referencing a vast corpus of magical scholarship and history that Clarke has dreamed up. Many of these footnotes are short stories unto themselves; brief fairy tales of the old school with archetypal characters in need of harsh social lessons.

So what is the damn book about? Johnathan Strange and Mr. Norrell of course. Two men who have been destined to bring magic back to England. The practice of magic is deeply ingrained in the history of Clarke's England,  but recently, actual practical magic has all but departed in Britain, leaving a bunch of pompous old men practicing "magic theory." Enter Mr. Norrell, a neurotic, highly introverted man who stuns the world by doing actual magic. Later on in the story (further along than I would have preferred in fact, we meet Johnathan Strange), a romantic, mercurial young man who takes up magic on a whim, and ends up as Norrell's apprentice. The book details both magicians' efforts in the Napoleonic Wars, and the strains of their social relationship caused by differing opinions on magical practice. There is also a scheming fairy who must be overcome, distressed damsels in need of rescuing, and several human antagonists of varying degrees of despicableness.

The book is in part, a comedy of manners. We have well-intentioned oafs, ill-fated everymen, scheming control freaks, sharp tongued servants, superficial rakes, saintly wives and flawed husbands. One of my writing teachers once told me that dialog is as much about what characters hear as it is what they say, and that is extremely evident in Clarke's writing. Miscommunication, both supernatural and mundane, pervades the book. There are segments of the book, particularly at the beginning of the narrative, where the pompous social interactions feel quaint and not quite as clever as they are supposed to be. At times, the book moves at a tediously deliberate pace, and there were some passages where I was desperate for Clarke to just get over herself and get to the point.

The point being the magic, of course. Clarke's haunting scenery and her magical phenomena are equally wonderful to read. Spoilers are sprinkled throughout this paragraph, so you may want to skip it. We have ships made of rain, ornate fences that have turned rosy with rust, chilling ruins of the fairy realm and comical geographic juggling. There is very little in the way of combative magic in the book however, even amidst the war, which on the one hand is tremendously refreshing, but also somewhat disappointing. We never get to see a magical duel between the titular magicians, which struck me as a tremendous lost opportunity. Their reconciliation is also too abrupt, and I think it skirts some of the personal issues that played a hand in their separation. I'm not saying that Norrell is in love with Strange, and that he felt betrayed on both a personal and intimate level, or that Strange blames Norrell for the death of his wife and trying to control him and English magical society in its entirety... no wait, that's exactly what I am saying. There is a lot of fascinating subtext that gets no real resolution. The brief glimpse we get of the enigmatic Raven King is suitably climactic but it's also a terrible tease, as we are no wiser of his intentions or motivations.

The Man With Thistle-down Hair is an awesome antagonist.

The fact that the book uses illustrations, albeit sparingly, is a nice touch, and one that I heartily approve of. I was surprised to learn, via Wikipedia, that some reviewers found them to be overly sentimental and inappropriate. I'm all for mixing text and images, especially since illustrations were a fairly big deal during the narrative's time period, and given that contemporary society is increasingly visual, I don't see how their addition is a anything less than an awesome move. It's a fusion of past and present tastes and Portia Rosenberg's are pretty damn good.

So, do I agree with Neil Gaiman's assessment that it is "Unquestionably the finest English novel of the Fantastic written in the past 70 years?" No. At least, not without some tricky qualifiers. If we are invoking 'finest' in the sense of Fine Arts and use "English novel" to refer to a specific novel of exceptional Englishness, then yes, perhaps. Clarke's prose are tremendously more complicated than Rowling's and her characters are more subtle and complex. And Anglo-files will be in heaven with the book's Victorian pomp. I have to say that I prefer Potter's saga however. Up until the very end of Strange and Norrell, there is very little urgency to Clarke's prose. Things simply happen, or don't happen, and it is frequently hard to appreciate what is at stake in the grand scheme of things.

That said, I can't wait for the sequel, and I'm glad I didn't read this right as it was released in 2004. Given that the first novel took 10 years to write, I'm not holding my breath for the follow up, or for the film adaptation that is supposedly in the works. Seeing how it's going to be a long wait, you might as well snatch up Strange and Norrell now. It'll keep your mind warm throughout the long winter.

Redeeming Dead

Death is a fairly pedestrian experience in most modern video games. It's like waiting at a stop light. It's a delay or an annoyance at most, but it doesn't really cost you anything. Saves and checkpoints can be reloaded. More lives can be obtained. Dying is a mere hiccup in the emergent narrative of your play session. In most cases, failed attempts aren't even addressed by the game's given narrative. Mario will inevitably beat bowser. Nathan Drake never really dies. That time you used your face as a catcher's mitt for a Bullet Bill? Those leaps of unfounded faith? Your brilliant idea to charge the a platoon of fortified enemies? Don't sweat it slick. They were bad dreams. Outtakes. Omake. Life is cheap, so waste it as you see fit.

That's part of the charm of video games, obviously. Real-life is much stingier with second chances, and  it's incredibly liberating to be able to leap off the highest cliff you can find without fear of consequences. But there's also a helluva lot to be said for games that allow you to die an appreciable death. A meaningful defeat that gives you cause to pause and reflect on what just happened is an incredibly valuable experience. It's also hard as hell to balance. If you make losing too costly, players won't have the will to start over. Make it too mild and... actually, many players don't seem to mind at all, hence the recent trend of games that mitigate the cost of death, or do away with it altogether. But it's a sore absence if you ask me. So today, I'd like to take a moment to address games that redeem the value of death in play, either by having it significantly influence mechanics, giving it appreciable narrative gravity, or just doing something interesting with it. Mega spoilers abound, so take caution.

Now this here is how you do a Western, I tell you wut. Hats off to them Rockstar boys.

Red Dead Redemption is a game I've been meaning to talk about for some time. The most frequent indictment brought against RDR is that it is simply GTA with horses and this is largely true. When friends asked me what the biggest difference was between RDR and GTA4, I said it was the way horses control versus cars. It was an off the cuff the answer, and looking back I realize that "the environment" would have been a better answer. The frontier Rockstar presents you with is the most impressive digital landscape I've yet encountered, and it is teaming with flora and fauna that you can interact with. At some point in the game, you will be killed by a cougar. Wolves will attack you in packs. You will hunt bears and skin them. You will pick wild flowers and herbs and sell them to buy bullets and whatever. The extent to which you interact with these elements is still mostly elective however, similar to GTA's Taxi/Police/Ambulance mini-games. There are a few missions where you hunt plants and animals toward the end of the game, but the vast majority of the game has you completing missions by riding horses and shooting fools, similar to the way you drive cars and shoot fools in Liberty City.

So what does this have to do with death? Nothing. I just wanted to talk mechanics for a little bit. The game does do something interesting with death, however.

After hundreds of shoot-outs, fetch-quests, horse-chases and other decidedly western trials, John Marston meets his end at the hands of the US Army in the final mission. Some context is necessary to appreciate the significance of this death. Marston is an ex-gangster who has been pressed into tracking down his former gang members by the US Government who is holding his family hostage as collateral. You complete this task about three quarters into the game at which point you are reunited with your family. The last few missions have Marston simply acting as a husband and a father. John's son Jack, is particularly ambivalent toward his father. He realizes that his father did not leave him out of choice, but he also struggles with abandonment issues and does not know the full details of his father's past or his service to the government. The game has you reconcile John with his gentler, slightly bookish son. After John dies protecting his family, the game allows you to continue playing in it's world, as traditional of RockStar titles, but you continue to play as Jack instead of John.

By continuing your father's legacy, the legacy of the character you have played throughout the entire game, the values of the old west are validated, and John's questionable life is redeemed through Jack. Video games rarely consider what happens after a character dies. Usually, they simply imply that evil wins and justice is not served. The fact that Red Dead Redemption goes farther, is refreshing and interesting. That said, Marston's ultimate demise doesn't cut as sharply as it could, seeing how you will have likely seen him die several dozen times before his canonical death.

Reach offers solid gunplay and good times online, 

but it could do more with its premise.

Another recent game that nearly does death justice is Reach. It's not quite as poignant or novel as RDR, which is a much longer, more emotionally involved affair, but you do adopt the role of a marine fighting in a military campaign doomed to failure. Reach is by no means the first title to put you in this position, but it's still fairly fresh territory for video games, and watching your squad mates die one by one, until you are finally left to your own last stand makes for a novel experience. More can be done with this premise however. Halo has never been a series for subtlety or ambivalence. It's monotonous rhetoric of duty, teamwork and sacrifice has always reached propagandistic proportions, and the game never once has Noble Team question their orders or consider their own chances. But showing the losing side of a battle, where even when you win the game, the good guys lose, is an interesting jumping off point for future titles to tackle.

This is a great game and you should buy it.

As I implied at the beginning of this post, death is used most impressively when it gives players cause to pause and reflect. To that purpose, few titles are as effective as Minecraft. When you die, you drop all of your items, and you only have a few minutes to collect your belongings. "That sounds like corpse running," you might point out. Very good. It is corpse running. But unlike the corpse runs of MMO's where reclaiming your belongings is a forgone conclusion and running back to your body is just a hassle, you very often won't be able to retrieve your lost goods in Minecraft. Loss is painful and consequential. It makes you think twice and weigh risk against reward. The game also introduces Creepers; easily the vilest new video-game of the last decade: hissing, walking bombs that can destroy your house as well as your body. What is valuable about having your house blown up you ask? Like the rest of Minecraft, a minimalistic gem of a game, the risk of death scales to your aspirations in play. The deeper you dig, the more you stand to gain. The deeper you go though, the harder it is to reach the surface and reclaim your loot. The grander your architectural schemes, the longer the shadows cast by Creepers. When you succeed, the triumph is not at all artificial or forced, but organic.

Finally, an oldie but a goody that I've been looking for a long time. Planescape: Torment, recently resurrected and available for purchase from Good Ol' Games. I'm not too far into the campaign yet, but I've played enough to tell you that it is superbly written. The game was created at the end of a magical era, where people still used written description to supplement game narratives, as opposed to relying solely on graphics and cinematics. As for how the game handles death, it marries your ability to come back to life with the narrative: you play as an accursed soul caught in limbo who cannot die or return to life as you know it. From what I have gathered so far, your ultimate goal may be to die once and for all; a fascinating quest to say the least.

I know there are hundreds of titles that handle death in innovative, inspiring ways which I have not addressed here. There are even several recent titles that deserve to be examined, Demon Souls being chief among them. But I won't weigh in on a title I haven't played yet, and this was never intended to be a comprehensive list of any sort. If you have ideas of games that work with death in interesting ways however, I would love to hear them. My thesis may work along similar lines. I realize this update has been a long time coming. Hopefully the length compensates for it somewhat. I'll try to have something on Johnathan Strange and Mr. Norrell up before October is out, but I make no promises. Check back soon!

Been Busy!

I realize it's been a good long while since I've posted dear readers, and I do apologize for the lapse. Turns out graduate school is harder than college (go figure) and staying on top of everything has occupied almost all of my attention. I have found time to keep reviewing videogames however! I have been writing for Georgia Tech's school paper, The Technique, and if you are so inclined you can read my take on Civ V, Reach, and Monday Night Combat. Just this morning, I finished writing about the indie smash-hit Minecraft, (tl;dr: buy it) but it probably won't be posted until Friday. Something to look forward to.

Actually, given the season, the picture is surprisingly appropriate.

If you simply can't wait, there are a couple of my academic projects you can check out. I will be posting on Georgia Tech's Newsgames blog periodically and my first article examining the decline of the editorial cartoon should be up for reads soon. I've also started an affair with Wordpress in the form of Speculative Technology & Designs, a blog chiefly concerned with Nanotechnology that should demonstrate what I am learning about digital media and design. Turns out this site is all kinds of ugly!

That said, I am absolutely not abandoning Sarcasmancy. I will endeavor to post something up here at least once a month! I'll be weighing in on Red Dead Redemption, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell and possibly Plainscape: Torment soon, so please be patient a little longer and thank you for your readership. You sustain me!

A Shotgun, A Zerg And You

A little while ago I quipped that "Blizzard got Firefly in my Starcraft  and I couldn't be happier." The truth though, is that you can always be happier, especially if you're both cynical and optimistic, and while Starcraft II: Wings of Liberty is an excellent title, it could do even more with it's country-western mash-in. But before I start in on the narrative, I want to repeat, the first installment of Starcraft II is an excellent piece of videogame. Even if you don't plan on partaking of the game's robust multi-player component, the single-player campaign is a parade of finely crafted, uniquely challenging missions that boasts surprising replay value. 

Each mission in the campaign has a unique hook that prevents it from being a typical game of Starcraft. Waves of fire or tides of lava will force you to move your base from point A to point B. Swarms of zombified marines will besiege your base come eventide, forcing you to hunt their lairs during the day. In one mission, you must intercept shipping routes and rob trains (which, to my eye, is the pinnacle of this sci-fi western strategy concoction, but more on that later). These variations keep the campaign fresh and many of them beg second playthroughs.


To further replay value, you accumulate limited funds and research points throughout the campaign which can be allocated to purchase and upgrade troops in various ways. There are also several points in the narrative when you are forced to take sides in disputes between two opposing characters, resulting in two unique missions and two unique narrative outcomes. One decision determines which special unit you will have access to, and another affects which enemies you will face in a later mission. At long last, a strategy videogame that let's you make meaningful tactical decisions in your virtual crusade This is a feature that could stand to be played up a lot more in Heart of the Swarm, though I have to wonder how that sort of diplomacy will translate to the Zerg campaign.

I assume the multiplayer is good because people treat it like a fucking sport, but I can't really comment on it because I haven't touched it yet. WoW aside, the prospect of PVP in Blizzard games kind of terrifies me. I don't have the lightning quick reflexes, or the patience to memorize hotkeys and stats for each unit in the Terran, Zerg and Protoss hierarchies. I would not last five minutes in a campaign. Or worse, I would provide my opponent with just enough interest for him to bat m around the map for twenty minutes while an audience of thousands looks on with scornful cackling. Yeah. That's how it works right? Maybe I'm making it worse. An old penny-arcade comic comes to mind, but I can't seem to find it. I might take a stab at it provided I find a friend to tutor me, but harsh memories of DotA (admittedly, not a real Blizzard game) and Warcraft III are enough to steer me clear for now. I'm not here for the bloodsport anyway.


No sir, I enlisted to follow the trials and travails of James Raynor and his raiders. That said, I haven't read any of the extraneous fiction available to flesh out the game's universe. I didn't even pay particularly close attention to the narrative of the first game. I did however, develop considerable respect for Blizzard as storyteller during my tenure as a WoW-addict, specifically when I was taking hits of Litch, and I wanted to see where they were gonna go with their return to the RTS format. 


In brief, the storyline for the first installment of a planned trilogy is good, and the smartest move Blizz makes is tapping into the same creative leylines that Joss Whedon channeled to create Firefly. It's a space-western right down to the twangy soundtrack and cowboy dialog, and it helps Starcraft II curb it's harshest artistic criticism; that it's nothing more than a Warhammer clone. That said, it accomplishes this feet via another imitation. James Raynor is conflicted, moody and lovable, but not as compelling as Malcolm Reynolds. Despite his folksy phrases, Jim lacks the humble and at times bumbling, charm that made Mal so fresh. Raynor comes off as a bit too heroic, and heroically flat. The supporting cast is similarly likable-but-bland, lacking the complicated relationships that made Serenity's crew so damn exciting to be around. One of the problems is that the plot is a bit too grand for it's own good. Raynor's civil war baggage and lady problems, two tried-and-true staples of the western genre, are handled quite well, but the practical aspects of his revolution, the down-to-earth, everyday concerns that Firefly made so damn compelling, are shortchanged.

Among the supporting cast, Tychus Findlay easily steals the show. 

Desperation, particularly as precipitated by scarcity of resources, is an essential theme of The Western. That seems like it would make a natural fit with the resource obsessed strategy genre, yet I never got the sense that Raynor and his crew were ever scraping. Yeah, they plunder tech from The Dominion, but I never got the sense that they were worried about having a warm meal, or that they wouldn't have enough minerals to fuel their flagship. You have to make some hard calls when it comes deciding between that last mercenary contract or upgrading your infantry, but the fact is, you've got extra money to spend. The train job mission is a step toward scarcity, in spirit and aesthetic, but most of the other missions, fun as they are to play, provide players with a glut of resources that diminish The Western's characteristic leanness. 


And leanness isn't the only thing lost. For a game obsessed with details by play-style, the narrative seems to gloss over a lot of logistics that have a lot of dramatic (and game-play) potential. How does Raynor hide his raiders from The Dominion? How do the mercenary troops get along with the raiders? The funny thing is, Blizzard has proven themselves brilliant at filling in these world-building gaps, time and again through the tiny quests in World of Warcraft. I can't help but wonder how they might have more effectively translated that world-building to Starcraft II.


I'm not saying that Starcraft II should aspire to be Firefly: The Game, or that it should be World of Starcraft. It shouldn't. I'm not even saying that Starcraft II fails as a story-telling game. It doesn't. As game narratives go, it's a real winner. But it could be even better, and I hope Blizzard continues to push the envelope in the next two installments. 

The Dragon Age Blues

As you may have noticed, there has been an smörgåsbord of triple-A video games over the past year, and I have commented on relatively few of them. Assassins Creed 2 and Dragon Age came and went without comment.   Heavy Rain and Allan Wake, the sort of narrative-driven titles I relish, arrived sans discussion. Even the exquisite Red Dead Redemption, which people have hailed as a triumph of Literature, Literature with a capital "L" Literature, remains unexamined. And now there is also StarCraft II to consider. Rest assured, I still plan to discuss these titles in detail, but I have been too busy trying to play through them that I haven't had much time to write.

Applying to graduate school, finishing college, getting married, moving across the country, and starting graduate school have kept me busy, but the games themselves constitute considerable time-investments. I have a backlog of roughly ten titles. Each of them off anywhere from 40 to 80 hours of gameplay, excluding any applicable multiplayer components. This tells you several I am (A) very spoiled and (B) very unfocused, but the very fact that I refer to the games I am currently playing as a backlog, says something about the modern videogame: They are digestible artifacts; things to be consumed and completed rather than relaxing methods of passing the time.

In short, it is the difference between playing table-tennis (Pong) and reading War and Peace (The Witcher). This transformation has blurred the lines between leisure object, and laborious objective. This is especially true if you play a game while following a guide to try and wring out all of its secrets and sidequests, or if you find the title to be exceedingly challenging. This environment of purposeful, highly structured play and frequent frustration can transform play into chore. Such is my relationship with Bioware's Dragon Age for the PC.

Behold the best written game of 2009. Pity that accessing the narrative can be such a chore.

The game is brilliant written. It wins my vote for best-written title of 2009 hands-down. Ferelden is a world of splendid squalor, caked with dirt and dried blood, besieged by demons and despots, and filled with a number of truly fascinating thought-experiments. For example, "What if the catholic church believed that god had turned his back on creation?" (Answer: Catholic Nihilists. There may be nothing scarier.) Then there's also the whole "using drugs to control magic users" thing which is a concept I hold dear to my thoroughly medicated heart. Best of all, the game manages to be both dark and tragic without succumbing to the sort of absurdist nihilism that is evident in many other games with mature narratives. Rockstar, I'm talking about you. The characters are also a lot of fun, and their histories are much richer than the cast of Mass Effect.

Accessing this excellent narrative though, can be a real slog at times. Truth be told, I'm not great at video games. I have this uncanny ability to find every possible pitfall, dead end, and failed strategy before making progress. This is a unique gift (read: personal problem) and I realize that. At the same time, I've played a lot of videogames of every kind, and I can usually cut through a game's "Easy Mode" without much trouble. Not so in Dragon Age. The first boss took an embarrassing number of attempts, and I have had to get into the habit of saving before every fight to avoid serious backtracking. My wife, who has played fewer videogames has had even more difficulty with the title. The fighting system isn't broken, or unpolished, (though it feels bit a dated), just punitively challenging. It bears mentioning that I'm playing the PC version, which I have heard is the hardest permutation of the game, so those looking for lighter fair may want to check out the console releases.

In any event, frequent death and backtracking in a game with a narrative of 80+ hours (with a variety of unique 6 hour opening sequences to choose from) makes play a daunting proposition. It requires the same sort of commitment as going to the gym everyday, or reading a seriously challenging text. And like reading a challenging text, a strange sort of Stockholm Syndrome comes into play. After spending so much time with a game, you tell yourself you're in love with it. Oh yes, there may be genuine affection in play, even genuine love, but like a battered wife, you excuse the game's punitive challenge and mind-numbing repetition as a part of the 'epic experience.' This is not a condition that is inherent, or exclusive to videogames mind you. Hell, I would argue that many 'Literary Classics' are guilty of similar long-winded self importance, and many of the people who claim to enjoy them are merely justifying their time investment.

This topic came up in a conversation I had with fellow graduate student and all-around good guy Chris DeLeon. Chris runs HobbyGameDev.com where he regularly writes articles designed to help aspiring game designers. He's also Vegan. It wouldn't surprise me if I learned he found homes for orphaned diabetic kittens in his spare time. Anyway, he recently published a post about short videogame design, where he writes "Videogames used to be light on content due to limitations of technology...The latest and increasingly dominant limitation now seems to be consumer time and attention." I am inclined to agree. Now that I am ostensibly an adult, finding time (and mullah) to invest in my habit has become a lot harder. This has led me to the dubious practice of buying games used, but even worse, it has also caused me to buy games that I will never finish. The industry's $60 price point is particularly egregious because, it's a lot of cash and I'll feel cheated if I don't get my money's worth, but at the same time, finding time for 60 to 80 hours of gameplay isn't exactly easy. Given those constraints, it's easy to see why iPhone and downloadable titles are seeing so much success. Chris' article lists a number of indie titles that make good on the promise of brief play in various ways.

On a related note, Donut Games' Cat Physics is another excellent free title for iDevices.

One base that isn't covered however, is narrative. Brief, aggressively affordable games are great, but I have yet to encounter an iPhone game with an engrossing story. Some titles may qualify as digital poetry, but narrative seems to be reserved for bigger budget console releases. I know that there are some episodic, downloadable games like the Sam and Max franchise, but for the videogame industry at large, mature, meaningful storytelling is shackled to big budgets and long-hours. I never believed that you need impressive graphics or a high page count to tell a good tale, and I like to think that someday soon, the short story game will have its day.

At the same time, I don't think long-form games will ever go out of fashion altogether. But given the tremendous success of casual controllers, I think we might start seeing play systems that allow people to access the later chapters of a game's narrative more easily. I don't mean to advocate the Mario Party approach to game design where everybody wins all the time; games must be challenging if they are going to be meaningful. But I know there is a market for game narratives outside of hardcore, gamers. I actually have a professor who is actually looking for somebody to play Red Dead Redemption so she can watch.

Over the next few days, I'm going to attempt to address a few of the titles I mentioned at the beginning of the article, but depending how grad school develops, I may get swamped. In any event, I will also be writing a review of Monday Night Combat for Technique, Georgia Tech's school paper, and I believe it will be available online. If so, I'll be sure to Tweet the link. Thanks for reading!

Scott Pilgrim Vs. His Movie

In our hype-saturated world, it's a rare thing for a movie to exceed the promise of its marketing material. Even rarer is the adaptation that manages to eclipse it's source material. This is especially true of videogame films where the compelling ruled worlds of source material are rendered through tedious exposition (rather than exploration and experimentation). Comic-books movies have faired much better. Hell, they've been doing pretty damn well for a while now, but most fans will agree that something is lost in the jump to the silver screen. Snyder's take on Watchman was faithful but uninspired, save for it's ultraviolence. Iron Man 2 was a good time but all the subplots and cameos left it feeling cluttered. Kick-Ass struck a strong balance between surreal, sometimes controversial violence, and nerdy self-deprecating humor, but its satire felt a bit sharper on the ink. 

I expected Scott Pilgrim would suffer similarly. I knew that Edgar Wright nailed the visual style from the moment I watched (and obsessively re-watched) the trailer, but I was worried about the leading man (you are forever George-Michael to me Michael Cera) and the challenge of compressing 6 graphic novels with about 20 characters into 2 hours. Wright not only captures the soul of the comic, he distills it and refines it. He gives it a 1-up, a fire-flower and a starman all at once. Scott Pilgrim vs. The World is not only a brilliant comic adaptation, but a brilliant example of how to bring video games to the movies. Bryan Lee O'Malley's opus is a romance first and foremost, but it is also positively saturated with videogame references, and his take on Toronto is twisted by gamic logic. People throw fireballs, produce weapons out of thin air and take shortcuts through alternate dimensions. Ninjas, Psychic Vegans and robots abound. People erupt into showers of coins when they are defeated. Wright gets the game and he plays it well.

This poster is awesome! Why don't they use this one instead of that other dweeby one?

Spoiler alert; specific examples follow: The film opens with an 16-Bit take on the Universal screen, complete with a digitized soundtrack. Immediately thereafter, you are greeted by a familiar melody from the Legend of Zelda. Beloved, nostalgia inducing sound effects from my Super Nintendo youth punctuate conversations and character interactions. Text occasionally adorns the screen, dividing the film into chapters and visual effects illustrate sound effects and music. This super-imposition of visual sound effects and iconic imagery on normal cinematography not only enhances the light-hearted absurd humor of the movie, it leads to a sort of augmented-reality presentation that is prefect for our time: we are surrounded by reoccurring  icons and sounds in every day life. This is especially true of videogamers and cyber-jockeys and cell-phone junkies. This is the sort of stuff that makes a videogame movie.

There are a few moments where the thing starts to feel like the Wachowski Brother's Speed Racer; the screen splits apart to show closeups of several characters simultaneously, or the background fades to abstraction behind characters before they pull off 'special moves.' But unlike Speed Racer, these anime aesthetics are grounded in fresh characters and meaningful relationships.

Speaking of characters and meaningful relationships, the casting and acting are great. The entire cast glows with the sort of enthusiasm that says "I'm happy to be a part of this." Kieran Culkin steals the show as Wallace Wells (though in the comics, I always imagined he was Asian), though Aubrey Plaza's Julie Powers gives him a serious run for his money. Anna Kendrick is great as Stacy Pilgrim and I wish she had more screen time (though it honestly wouldn't fit with the story). The Sex Bob-Ombs all look and sound exactly like I would have imagined them. I still think Wright could have done better than Michael Cera for the lead (When he scowls or puts on his 'game face' it looks like he's pouting and he's still a bit too mopey and awkward), but the truth is, he also could have done much worse. There are a few moments where he's spot on. Mary Elizabeth Winstead makes Ramona Flowers seem much warmer and more appealing than she was in the comic without sacrificing the character's mystique. Ellen Wong also does an admirable job with Knives Chou, and I plan to keep an eye on her in the future.

The aforementioned dweeby poster.

The plot moves absurdly fast. Not quite 'Gilmore Girls dialogue' fast, but a lot of stuff happens and it happens fast. Again, the pace is pixel perfect for generation net. I can't help but wonder how older audiences would react to the film. Parents may or may not get it. Grandma might have a seizure. The pace is essential for fitting everything in however. I also applaud the edits made to the plot. In the books, (particularly in the second half of the season and the last book in particular), there are times where it feels like Scott is just drifting and O'Malley is killing time. To be honest, the last volume of the book, (released a few weeks ago) felt like a rather sloppy ending. The movie has a much cleaner finish, and the battle of the bands subplot adds some more structure to the narrative. All in all, both the books and the movie are worthy of your time, but for the first time in a long time, I have to say that the movie is better.

Part of me wants more. These characters, and the world they inhabit are just too damn fun. But the story is finished, O'Malley is finished with it, and I worry about what might happen if we try to push this forward. In any event, you should definitely give Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World a watch at your earliest convenience. It's an absolute blast.

Here's Hoping for a Little More Persona-ality

On August 1st, I will be heading east to settle in the Deep South, where I shall remain for two years, learning the mysterious Kung-Fu of the digital media scholar. Videogames will be the primary focus of my studies, though I suspect that I will have very little time to game and blog once the program actually commences, and I've tried to fit in as much gaming as possible in the past few weeks. Red Dead Redemption, Alien Swarm, Alan Wake, and Transformers War for Cybertron have all consumed considerable hours and you can expect to read about some of them soon, but two 'last-gen' titles have staked the greatest claim on my time: Persona 3 Portable, and Persona 4.

Awesome anime cover. It's also worth noting that the game includes a free soundtrack CD. Admittedly, most of the soundtrack is maddeningly repetitive, but it gradually wears you down to the point that you find yourself humming the tunes as you go about your day.

While Square-Enix may hold Japan's best recognized role-playing franchises, Atlus' Persona series, the most popular chapter of their Shin Megami Tensei multiverse, is the best example of the J-RPG genre, combining typical turn-based battling and world-saving with high-school dating and social drama. It's a recipe ripe for parody, but the two go together kind of like gin and tonic; a taste not everybody will appreciate, but those who do will keep on drinking till the wee hours of the morning. "So it's a game for alcoholics?" you ask, with a wry smile dripping down your face. "No smartass!" I exclaim, pounding my fist on the table. "It's a game about relationships! Whether or not relationships lead to drinking is up to you. Wino."

Persona is the most character driven series I've ever played. Not all of the characters tremendously deep, but conversing with characters and developing meaningful connections with them is the bread and butter of the series. Each potential character-relationship represents one of twelve tarot-card themed Arcana. Each of these arcana represents a division of supernatural entities called "Persona" that your characters can summon to magic and kick-ass in battle. In order to unlock more of these supernatural entities, you need to become closer to the people who represent that arcana. This little set up is referred to as the social link system, and it transforms socializing into an essential aspect of developing your character, which is really quite poetic when you think about it.

Unlike the one-shot character quests that are typical to Bioware RPGs (IE; Mass Effect 2's Loyalty Missions), you establish relationships with other characters in Persona over a period of months. Both titles gradually occur over the course of an academic school year, and each character you can hang out with has their own weekly schedule. Budgeting your time to try and fit everyone in is a huge part of the game. Word to the wise? On your first play-through, don't try to max out every social link, even if you have a guide. There are just too damn many things to keep track of, and it can turn the gameplay into a chore. Completionists need not fear, both games have New Game+ systems that will let you carry over your social link progress from prior attempts, (Though to get one special persona in P3, you really do have to max everything and everybody on your first time through. Much luck).The number of embedded narratives packed into this game are staggering, and while a few characters are obnoxious (Kenji and Bebe from P3, Ai from P4) most of them are quite likable and some are very endearing (if you feel nothing for P4's Nanako you have no soul).

The thing that I would love to see other games emulate is the gradual sense of progress in forming character relationships. I'm not saying that every game should follow Persona's daily routine model (which is not without it's faults), but the emphasis on communicating with characters' and tactfully solving their problems with something other than gunfire, magic and martial arts is incredibly refreshing. So yes, more of that please.

This is the recently released third version of Persona 3 and it is definitely the one you want to pick up; provided you have a PSP. It features two distinctive campaigns depending on which gender you pick as well as the expansion of the original game. The only thing sacrificed are moving character sprites as you walk around school and the mall.

At the same time, it would awesome to see Persona take a page from Mass Effect 2's book where dialogue interaction is concerned. Most conversations essentially boil down to you picking among three or four dialog options in hopes of making the person you're talking to like you better. I think it would be awesome to have a few social links where you debate, argue, or even mock people instead of acting nice all the goddamn time. I don't want to see a Paragon/Renegade dialectic, but I do want a few more 'colorful' dialog and interaction options. There are several cases where the game gives you the option to be a complete ass, but you find yourself playing nice to advance the link, which really feels like a missed opportunity for fun and diversity.

This brings me to my biggest complaint about Persona, which is that while the games are supposedly about developing your individual character, the narrative skews towards repression and conformity at every turn. They are about being successful and popular in high school. P4 even defines a Persona as "The mask used to overcome life's hardships." All the while, I can't help but wonder, "why wear a mask at all?" Yes, there are certain times in life where you need to put on a pretty face and say the nice thing instead of the true thing. Most of us get our fill of that in real-life. One of the great joys of playing videogames is that they let you break free from all the rules and complications of real life. There has to be some middle ground between overcoming every obstacle with superior firepower and being a model student. The shonen trope of "fighting to protect my nakama" comes on really strong and runs very thick in both P3 and P4.

Another aspect of Perona's social link system that could use some work is having relationships affect the course of the story in more profound ways. Right now, both games have been arranged so you can be everybody's best friend if you play your cards right. I think it would be cool if being a friend to some people meant getting shit-listed by others, as that's how things tend to work out in real life. It may not please perfectionists, but it would greatly increase the game's replay value.

Speaking of value, it's a tough call as to which game is the better experience. Persona 3 Portable is the third version of Persona 3 Atlus has released, and each iteration has added hours of play time to an already considerable quest. In terms of tone, P3 is the more serious narrative. The characters are chiefly concerned with discovering the secrets behind mysterious monsters called Shadows that emerge during 'the dark hour', a hidden hour of the day that appears at midnight when most of the worlds inhabitants turn into coffins. Persona 4 is set in the same universe, though the narratives don't noticeably overlap. Persona 4's main story , has the main characters wandering into strange worlds through the television to solve a string of bizarre murders in the rural town of Inaba and it features a giant stuffed mascot character. So.. its a little harder to swallow in terms of seriousness. That said, I found the characters to be generally much more interesting and likable than P3's cast. Honestly, both titles are worth playing, but if you're having trouble deciding, go with P3P. It's always possible Atlus will make a portable version of P4.

All in all, Persona is weird little series (like the vast majority of titles from the Shin Megami Tensei brand), but it is extremely engrossing and it has a lot of charm. If you're a fan of Japanese videogames (particularly RPGs and Dating Sims), I can't recommend it highly enough.

Dreams, Madness and Obsession

Inception is an amazing spectacle. It is the most impressive, visually arresting experience Hollywood has produced since The Matrix. Cities warp, bend and crumble into the ocean. Bullets fly and cars chase only to be outclassed by runaway freight trains. An elevator rises and descends through the tormented echoes of a man's sundered family life. The roles and performances are palpably calculated, but convincing and at moments, genuinely moving. It is the stuff dreams are made of, but Inception is not a movie about dreams. Dreams are the set-up, the backdrop, the pretense, but as Stephen Totillo suggests in his review of the film, Inception is about virtual realities; virtual realities so immersive and convincing, that ‘video games should be jealous.’ This is both a good and a bad thing.

The issues associated with virtual realities, particularly those realities that are so convincing that they can be considered alternate realities, need to be addressed. People are already getting lost in fantasy worlds, obsessing over virtual possessions and personas. This movie will help people understand how we get lost and why we don’t want to be found. More importantly, this film will help people appreciate the profound, if tragic beauty, in surrendering oneself to another world. As Totillo suggests in his review, this film is a clear representation of the joys of virtual reality: wondrous new frontiers to explore with strange new rules to master. God help us all if we actually learn how to develop this tech. That would be the end of it for me, I can promise you.

At the same time, dreams have a hell of a lot more to offer than the rigidly ruled framework of Nolan’s film allows, as anyone who read Sandman well-knows. My subconscious hosts far greater horrors than throngs of orderly, humanoid projections. The idea that peoples’ intellectual property conveniently congeals in safes and vaults is also a missed opportunity; ideas themselves can be labyrinthine dungeons that people wade through. Secrets can be monsters themselves, as the film half-illustrates through Mal. Everything is a bit too clear-cut for the movie to actually be about dreams. But it’s perfect for obsession.

On Facebook I butted into a friend’s discussion about the movie, chiefly, whether it was about madness or not. Again, I would argue that the film is too organized for most manners of madness, but it is perfect for obsession; a madness forged from focus and getting lost in relentless routine. Leonardo Decaprio’s Tom Cobb is an obsessed man. His presentation of ideas as parasites is compelling, but the sort of cancerous ever-growing idea he describes specifically pertains to the ideas we obsess over, like stories, memories and what could have been or what may yet be.

I suspect that Nolan obsessed over Inception himself. The complexity of the final job sequence feels like something that was tweaked, adjusted and edited endlessly. Little logistic issues haunt the film in hindsight. Why do we end up in the dream world Cobb created if we’re in another person’s dream? If base-dreamer is ‘kicked’ out of one level, why don’t the others automatically join him or get lost in subconscious limbo permanently? None of these little questions amount to an actual hole in the plot, but the degree of engineering involved with the exposition leaves the whole film feeling a bit more mechanical than it should.

In many ways, Inception feels like it was meant for something bigger than a single movie. I wanted more time to digest the ideas in play. I wanted to see more of this technology and its possibilities. I wanted to see more of the characters as well. It would be fun to explore the thieves’ various histories, or even see if there's an actual relationship behind that kiss between Joseph Gordon Levitt and Ellen Paige. That said, I do not want to see Inception 2 in theatres three summers hence. There is no way to follow up from the film’s ending without destroying it.

In closing, I’d like to leave you with anecdote about how obsession. After seeing the movie, my friends and I were hanging out in the theater lobby, discussing the intricacies of the plot when this guy walked up to our circle and started standing there in a way that screamed "I have an opinion about the movie that I need to share." He asked what we liked about the movie. I applauded the effects, the plotting and it's use of rules. He politely acknowledged my praise and proceeded to tell us that the film stole his intellectual property, citing it's use of the number 528 in relation to music. He was Doctor Horowitz of 528love.com. Never heard of him? He promises you will (though I left his site unlinked for a reason).

Apparently, 528 is the magical musical frequency of love, one of the nine cardinal frequencies of the universe. He went on to claim that Inception was a brilliant piece of propaganda by multinational corporations owned by evil tyrants like Rupert Murdock (an evil tyrant to be sure, but one who is completely unrelated to Inception). All this from three numbers which appeared in the movie three times at most. Horowitz was so utterly taken with this concept that it completely totalized the movie. He couldn't see anything else but his frequency and its conspiracies. It was an unsettling experience. Maybe it's because I was so close to grasping the truth that those evil multinationals have been repressing all these years, but I suspect it was because I was confronted with raw fanaticism. Not the sort that has been has been cultivated throughout the years by dogma and religion, but the kind that springs up unbidden.

It was a surreal ending to an already surreal experience, and oddly ironic that an obsessed man should decry intellectual property theft in a movie about an obsessed intellectual property thief.

Very Superstitious

Let's have a chat about Supernatural! But before we get started, may I recommend some funky mood music?

Title card to season 5. So far I've only seen seasons 1-3

Those of you who brought up on Buffy and Angel may be jonesing for a show with magic, monsters and mayhem. Nothing that will scratch your itch better than Supernatural. It has one of those elegantly simple, impossibly promising premises: two brothers travel across america and hunt monsters from classic folklore. Sam and Dean Winchester are more conventional heroes than what you'll find in the Whedonverse and their relationship stays in familiar emotional territory, but they've got a dynamic that could charm the dry off a desert. I think Jensen Ackles is a better actor than Jared Padalecki, though I prefer Sam's character to Dean's.

 

Fangirlish preferences aside, the show really shines where lore is concerned. The winchester boys run through a gauntlet of unique ghouls and ghosts, especially in the first season and series creator Eric Kripke does an admirable job of modernizing the spooks while keeping them faithful to their roots. There are no sparkling vampires here. Ghosts are banished with shotguns loaded with rocksalt, demons are bound with magic circles and dark rituals are invoked at crossroads. A few episodes tap into some truly unique folklore, like faith healers, Djinns and Lucid dreaming. The show follows a  mystery formula but it has a little more variety than typical detective shows. That said, the monster of the week format makes for disposable supporting characters and very few real relationships. The few supporting characters that do endure from one episode to the next are mostly likable, but the show also adhere to some troubling Hollywood conventions, especially where minorities and women are concerned.

The first season of supernatural is a parade of distressing damsels; women who cannot fight the bad guys, or at least cannot fight them without the boys help. Okay sure, this trend is so common that it barely bears comment and it makes sense that these normal women don't know how to fight the forces of darkness. When the show finally introduces strong female characters, like the headstrong aspiring hunter Jo, she still needs the boy's protection. Worse yet are Bela Talbot and Ruby; a duplicitous self-serving thief and a demon turned good respectively. The implications are absolutely medieval: Women are only powerful when they are deceptive, or when they draw power from the devil. Then there's the dying black guy syndrome to consider: so far I've seen three seasons of supernatural, and there have been three reoccurring black characters. All of them are antagonists of some sort or another, well-intending or not, and they all end up dead. I don't want the writers to throw in characters for the sake of pandering to political correctness, but you'd think they could have one woman who doesn't draw her power from darkness and deceit and one black guy who doesn't die. 

The show's over-arching plot is conventional but fairly well-written, gradually altering the brother's objectives and introducing new sources of tension in their relationship. As I mentioned, I haven't seen season four and five, but seasons one through three maintain a consistent level of quality, which is a hell of a lot more than can be said for some other shows. All in all, Supernatural is the best and worst about television formula writing. The conventions are easy to digest, entertaining, and charming, but also fairly shallow and at times insensitive.

Fullmetal Finale

Now that it has finally drawn to a close, I can definitively say that Fullmetal Alchemist is the best manga I have ever read. For those who have never heard of it, the comic series' follows two brothers who attempt to revive their dead mother using the art of alchemy. Their spell goes horribly wrong, and Ed, the elder brother ends up loosing his arm and his leg, while the Al younger brother loses his entire body. Ed manages to save his brother by attaching his soul to a suit of armor, and he replaces his lost limbs with robotic prostheses. The two set out to find the Philosophers Stone to recover their lost bodies. While the series' successes can't be attributed to any single element, I believe the most refreshing thing about the series is it's occidental quality; both in terms of aesthetics and narrative structure.

Edward and Alphonse Elric.

Coming from a westerner, I realize that probably seems incredibly arrogant. I'm not trying to say that all manga should strive to follow the conventions of Western fiction but there are certain elements of manga storytelling, and Shonen in particular, that are down-right hackneyed. Most Shonen heroes have no motivation beyond, "I must become stronger so I can protect those dear to me!" The hero gains enough strength to defeat whatever evil that is threatening his beloved comrades, only to run into a bigger and badder beast later on. I can't help but wonder what these school age superheroes would do with their lives if the bad guys ever stopped bothering them.This eternal dissatisfaction with oneself is extremely appealing to adolescents, who really do have to defeat waves of school work while navigating their hormones and the fucked up social conventions that dominate high school, but what do you do when you're done fighting? Shonen rarely attempts to answer those questions. 

Fullmetal Alchemist's characters all have hopes and dreams beyond defeating the bad guys. Admittedly, the bad guys themselves are flat, seeing how they're all based on the seven deadly sins. But considering that the villains are homunculi; artificial humans created by alchemy, their unidimensionality is actually quite logical. And series creator Hiromu Arakawa does a brilliant job of personifying Lust, Greed, Gluttony, Sloth, Pride, Wrath and Envy in compelling ways that make them threatening and loathsome. 

The other welcome westernization in Fullmetal Alchemist is the ending. Anime and Manga conclusions tend to feature incoherent plot twists, pathetic anticlimaxes, or an explosive, mind-fuck apotheosis. It's partially an East vs. West thing (the emphasis over there being on the journey as opposed to the destination) and it's partially a symptom of the grueling work ethic that defines Japanese culture. Sometimes, creators simply snap from the pressure, as was the case with Evangelion's original ending, which is so horrible it's hilarious. Then again, the "good" ending of Evangelion involves the birth of at least one god and the whole of humanity exploding into puddles of orange juice. This is pretty much par for the course as fas as anime endings go. The obvious explanation is that each of these endings are cultural echoes of what happened to Hiroshima, but knowing that does little to clarify what the hell is happening to the characters you have been following for 26 episodes. 

More frequently, especially when it comes to anime adaptations of ongoing manga, artists have to cobble together an ending for a series that has only just begun. This was the case with the original Fullmetal Alchemist anime, where the artists had Ed take a trip to Nazi Germany out of nowhere.

Fortunately, the recently released conclusion of the manga is everything fans could hope for. It's comprehensive, creative, moving at times, and while it lays the main adventure to rest and ties up the important subplots, it also gives readers a good idea of how the characters will live out their lives now that they have vanquished the ultimate evil. There are some over-the top moments in the final fight, but the plot moves too fast to take itself too seriously. That's another thing I love about the series; it is not mellow-dramatic or over-wrought. The plot earns whatever emotional response it desires from it's readers with compelling events. There is very little introspective whining and none of the dramatic posturing that plagues series like Dragon Ball, Bleach and Naruto.  

Behold the self-portrait of a genius mangaka. I can't wait for Hiromu Arakawa 's next manga!

That said, Fullmetal Alchemist is still very much a manga. The story has a European aesthetic but the art style is very Japanese. The humor is visual and situational as opposed to sarcastic and cynical. While the pacing of the fights are much more visceral and realistic than most manga, the violence is very highly stylized and at times so complicated that it warrants considerable exposition. If you have the slightest interest in manga, consider Fullmetal Alchemist a must read. Or if you're pressed for time, watch the new anime series, titled Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, which faithfully follows the plot of the manga at the expense of some abridgment. You can get started here now!

Witchering Hours

At the end of my last post, I hinted at my weariness of Bioware's binary approach to narration and character building: Paragon vs. Renegade, Sith vs. Jedi, Light Path vs. Dark Path (am I the only one who remembers Jade Empire?). Dragon Age is a welcome departure from such dichotomies, though your companions' and their approval of you produces a similar sort of judgment system. Don't get me wrong, I love the game (I'll be writing on it soon) and I love Bioware, but I think CDProjekt beat them to the punch where dark, morally ambiguous fantasy is concerned. I am referring of course to their excellent first effort, The Witcher: Enhanced Edition.

I love icons and symbols, and The Witcher's badge is a mean piece of work.

The source material, Polish fantasy writer Andrzej Sapkowski's series of novels by the same name, is rich and ripe for a videogame adaptation. Both the books and the game are centered around The Witcher Geralt of Rivia. And what is a Witcher you ask? They are mutant white-haired badasses who get high on toxic alchemy and hunt beasts that go bump in the night. Theirs is a grim and grimy world fraught with feudal greed and supernatural peril. The game does a good job of transmuting this ugliness into a refreshing aesthetic; the world is convincingly and authentically dark, as opposed to being bombastically violent and sexualized.


I am only in the beginning of the game's massive 80+ hour quest, but the writing so far has been superb, and the story telling has been intriguingly receptive to interpretation. An example at the cost of a minor spoiler: In the first chapter, you are confronted by a lynch mob that blames a witch for summoning a hellhound that haunts their town. It is up to you to determine whether she is guilty, (and she is a scheming, feisty, seductive thing), or if the townspeople summoned the creature with their own misdeeds. After you make your call, you live with the consequences. There is no definitive truth revealed after the fact, no slider creeping toward saintliness or descending into antipathy, no "Morrigan disapproves." The game is about interpreting situations as opposed to making obvious moral judgment calls.

Now this is what a badass looks like. Haggard, scarred, but graceful as well, and positively lousy with sharp things. I mean, he's got a huge hook just hanging out on his belt!

The gameplay itself is also admirable, if awkwardly situated between third-person action and traditional western role playing tactics. The combat, even in the enhanced edition, seems like it would really glisten if it had just a little bit longer in the kiln, but I still prefer it to the often tedious, micromanaged tactics of Dragon Age and Neverwinter. The progression system is particularly praiseworthy; a blend of Final Fantasy X's sphere grid and Diablo II's skill trees. Each level up is an opportunity for customization and gaining multiple new powers. The game's alchemy system is also a nice addition, as it really reinforces the ritualistic, "Eye of Newt" approach to magic, while applying another layer of strategy and preparation to combat. I even found the game's "trading card" approach to sexual conquest to be an amusing tongue-in-cheek commentary on videogame romances. No, really. It's certainly no more crass than Mass Effect's Paramour achievements.


Speaking of collectibles, the enhanced edition includes a bounty of bonus loot: a music CD, a making-of DVD, and my favorites; a short story and a map of the fantasy world. They don't often make 'em like that anymore kids, I tell you what. My hopes are high for the sequel, though truth be told, I don't think I'll be able to complete the first game's sprawling campaign before it hits. There's no question of whether you'll be getting enough bang for your buck here though. If you want fantasy action that isn't afraid of gray areas, give ol' Geralt a try. You won't be disappointed.

Bioware used Sequel! It's Super (Mass) Effective!

It's been a hell of a long time since I wrote a videogame review. Let's fix that right now! My playing habits for the last academic year have been largely dominated by two little words: Mass Effect.

Note the strong blue hues of this poster, and how they compare to the reds of the sequel. Color coding series might be trite, but it's a trend I approve of.

The first game in the series was a deeply flawed experience. I can't think of a more underwhelming opening to a videogame than puttering around on through The Citadel, gathering evidence of Saren's bad behavior. In addition to the pacing issues, the combat system was ambitious (squad based shooting + RPG action!) but deeply flawed (gunplay was simultaneously silted and detached) and buggy to boot (I got stuck in prone position during the Matriarch Benezia fight: twice). The inventory system was sloppy and required constant attention. Despite these complaints, the game grew on me like mold on a raspberry. I liked the characters and the writing, which while very conventional, was sharp. I also liked how each alien race seemed to personify certain philosophical doctrines.

For example, the Asari, an 'all female' race of blue skinned psychics capable of reproducing with any other race via mental coitus, can be thought of as the ultimate feminists. In contrast, the brutish Krogans who consider headbutts to be a normal part of conversation, are perfect avatars for the adolescent male Id. The migrant Quarians who have been driven from their home world by their own robotic slaves, could be considered Space Jews, for lack of a more politically correct term. Throughout your journey, you amass a staggering body of information on these various races and their cultures in the games codex. Players can safely ignore all these little logistic details, but I was delighted to learn how Element Zero actually works.

All in all Mass Effect ended up being a fun experience overall. But it really doesn't hold a candle to it's sequel. The game literally opens with a bang and while the plot remains faithful to familiar sci-fi conventions, it is far more engaging than it's forerunner because you are repeatedly confronted by the consequences of your decisions. Did you threaten the eternally annoying Conrad Verner with a gun? Nice shootin', Tex. He'll be running around the sequel pretending to be the Goddamn batman. I would have liked to see some of your decisions, like the fate of the council, to have some appreciable influence on the way the plot unfolds, but running into familiar faces (and a few people you will have inevitably forgotten) has a certain charm.

Mass Effect 2 is one of the most successful videogame sequels I have ever played.

More significantly, Bioware made good on the unrealized gameplay promises of their first game. Mass Effect 2 successfully marries squad based third-person shooting to RPG strategy and abilities. While it lacks the verticality of modern 3rd person titles, ME2's gunplay feels tight and satisfying, if a little less visceral than 'dedicated' shooting and action titles. The over-involved inventory system has been replaced with a system centered around buying, 'researching' and upgrading. Gone are the hated mako sections, (though there is DLC available involving a jet Hovercraft that are similar and more fun). The most important upgrade is undoubtedly the addition of quick time events that allow you to act or interfere with cut-scenes in ways that have meaningful effects on the story. Usually, these events boil down to left clicking or right clicking to behave like a Paragon (fluffy diplomat) or a Renegade (borderline psychotic hard-ass). As tired as I am of this binary approach to character growth, this system makes conversations and other non-combative exchanges far more involving than in previous titles.

ME2 is not without it's faults, however. While the sequel never suffers from the monotonous pacing that plagued the first game, it does feel rigidly formulaic at times, particularly during the Loyalty Missions; side-quests that are supposed to deepen and characterize Shepard's supporting crew. Some missions, like Tali's, are quite inventive and they do an admirable job of expanding both the world and its characters. Others, like Jacob's, seem to prove that the writers had no idea what to do with certain characters. The most criminal aspect of the loyalty missions however, is that the third member of your squad turns into a mute, irrelevant mannequin. The game will tease you with potential tension between crew members, but they could do so much more with this in-fighting. It would also be interesting to see romance bud between somebody other than Shepard and his female crew members. Maybe Tali and Garrus could have a thing, only for it to adversely affect their performance during missions? Just a little food for thought.

Given that Mass Effect 2 was received with nearly universal critical acclaim, it will be interesting to see if Bioware plays things safe in act three, or if they continue to push the envelope with innovation. Most videogame companies strongly abide by the "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" school of thought. I'm still hoping they'll surprise me again.