Viewing entries tagged
soundtrack
Ever grown up in a small town, only to leave it and explore the world once you come of age? Ever leave your safe little bubble in favour of the unknown dangers and risks that lead to greater rewards and ultimate awareness? No? Me neither; but I feel like I was able to have my own little Rumspringa vicariously through the adventure of Sable exploring the surreal and beautiful world around them.
While narrative games have often been at the forefront of innovation and originality in game design, it's fair to say that many contemporary titles tend to follow a similar formula. We're all very used to the "walking simulator" that lets you progress through a location while a story unfolds around you. Even as a big fan of this kind of storytelling, it can definitely get stale and sometimes feel a little bit like an easy option for creating a narrative experience in gaming. At least until a new entry into the genre comes along and reveals another twist on the formula, providing a fresh perspective on how a story can be delivered via this medium we all love.
I've never gone back to a game that I've already posted about before, but I also didn't think I'd be going back to Spiritfarer after the technical difficulties I faced last time around. In fact, it should be a testament to the game's success that I even went back at all, because after hitting a game-breaking bug ten hours in, I would usually uninstall with glee and never give it any more of my time.
Are all games art? Or are art games actually games? How much art makes a game art instead of a game? At what point does a game with great art become nothing like a game, leaving only the art? What if the art is split between visuals and music, while the game focuses on generic elements, overshadowed by the art? When does a game become art, or when does art become a game? After all, games are an artform, but they rarely contain beautiful art.
Occasionally a game comes along that manages to subvert our expectations of what we think a game can be. I, of course, love this kind of creative diversion from the norm, even though it doesn't always pay off. Then again, it's only when a developer makes a strong artistic choice, that they enter the realm of opportunity that may provide room for creativity to truly grow until it becomes something special.
Ever since I was a kid I've loved science fiction, but mostly one particular kind of science fiction that doesn't always stand out. I suppose a lot of the time when I mention science fiction, people tend to think up fantastical future things like Star Wars, or something completely off the wall like Transformers. While I do enjoy that side of the genre, what really gets me going are the stories that seem to be firmly tied to what's actually possible.
As time goes on, I find myself being repeatedly surprised at how much I enjoy shorter games that showcase a complete vision. It's happening so much that I really need to start expecting it as the norm, instead of the exception. Gone are the days when a huge open-world epic appeals to me more than a tightly polished experience that hits every nail on the head.
These days there seems to be a regular turnover of silly little games that end up doing the rounds on every YouTube and Twitch channel you can find. Most of the time they're just thoughtless meme games that allow whatever personality to act like a bit of an idiot for the entertainment of others, so I tend to avoid paying attention when these kind of games surface. I never felt compelled to play Goat Simulator, and I doubt I ever will. So why did a short little game about a goose catch my eye?
I always think it must be difficult to carve out a visual identity for a game development studio, as it kind of puts the cart before the horse in a lot of ways. After all not every game will fit into the same style guide, unless their scope remains limited as well. Is it worth giving up a little bit of depth to retain a strong identity? I'm still not sold either way.
As an artist, I love abstraction just about as much as the next guy. In fact, as a designer it's one of the most important tools in the box, as the essence of good design is arguably the ability to abstract concepts to their furthest point. Thankfully, this doesn't only apply to visual art, but I'm sure there are threads of abstraction found throughout video games as well.
These days it seems like there's another game being re-released or remastered every second. It seems like publishers have decided that cashing in on old classics is a much better idea than making something new and interesting. Unsurprisingly, I'm often sceptical when I see an acclaimed title getting the re-release treatment, and Shadow Of The Colossus (2018) was no different.
Welcome back to the land of beautifully realised, small-scale, narrative gaming excellence. I'll never ceased to be amazed at how a great little game can stick with you far beyond an average big game. Then again, we all know that sometimes good things really do come in small packages.
It's no secret that I’m a big fan of the big budget open world games we've come to expect from some of the most popular series in gaming. What I love most is the amount of detail and deliberate effort that has gone into creating a world. It's something unique to 'triple A' games in particular, as they have the team and budget to make it happen in a way that wouldn't otherwise be possible.
There's something exciting in the process of discovery that's often ruined by mass marketing and the hype machine. It's kind of impossible to be surprised by a big budget game with an even bigger advertising budget, as they tend to throw all the good stuff at you before you even make a purchase. Thankfully though, the lower end of the market is full of little surprises waiting to be discovered.
There are some genres that I never expect to surprise me, but that's okay. When it comes to sports and racing games, there isn't a lot of room to move, as we all have some kind of understanding about what we're going to get. So when a little racing game comes along and finds a unique identity between arcade and simulation, it deserves to be noticed.
There once was this game called Bastion, which I played to death and loved every aspect of. The story was unique and original, the graphics were gorgeous and colourful, even the gameplay was simple and compelling. I often listen to the soundtrack, just because it's a good album of music, and surely everyone saw the hype around the clever narration guiding you through the game's story.
For the longest time "procedurally generated levels" was gaming blasphemy and an immediate turn off when used in a game's description. It felt like as soon as Minecraft hit it big, everyone and their mother was including procedurally generated elements in their game. The promise was millions of combinations and infinite replay-ability, which ultimately wound up meaning an endless gauntlet of bad content to slog through.
One of the coolest things about any form of art, is that it often defies any rational justification for why we like it. Sure we can point to likely culprits, such as quality and detail, but sometimes something hits you harder than expected. I often think that these odd connections with creativity are all the more powerful, as they defy logic and rationale.
A long time ago, in a basement not so far away; a friend and I spent an entire afternoon trying to get Doom II running on their PC. They had a brand new 16-bit sound card to try out, and I had a copy of the full game backed up on about sixteen floppy discs. It was astronomical to conceive of such a huge game that used the cutting edge technology of the time. When we finally got it running, the 16-bit grunts of the Pinkies would forever be etched into my memory.
