Nintendo's going to make a killing on Wii Fit. More of a killing, I mean, than the one they're already making on the Wii itself. Last Friday morning, on my way out of Panera, I stopped by Gamestop to see if they had any of the former in stock, only to find that people were lining up to buy up the newly-arrived shipment of the latter. The place sold $1,000 of game consoles in about 10 minutes.
No, Wii Fit wasn't in stock. Nobody has it. Nobody's going to have it for a very long time. Nintendo can't even get the basic machine onto shelves fast enough, much less a crossover product for it. And I suspect Fit is going to be huge, for two reasons: 1) we're an overweight country, and 2) we like sitting in front of the TV.
I'm no stranger to either of these, of course. I've gained weight since college (although I would argue that it's more that I was undernourished in college), I live a pretty sedentary life, and it's no secret that I enjoy both b-movies and buttonmashing. You have a product that will fix one and satisfy the other? Ah ha! I say, along with every other sedentary television-owner in America. Sign me up!
...if I can find one.
For my own future reference: Wii hackers have managed to create a Homebrew Channel for the system's main menu, putting non-licensed code on pretty much the same level as virtual console and first-party apps. Very interesting.
I owe STALKER (the game, not the movie) an apology. Not for calling it ridiculously overpunctuated (although I guess over-abbreviated would be more accurate), but I quit it last time after only a few hours, frustrated at its weapons model and its opaque narrative structure.
After watching the film, I got an itch to give the game another shot. I figured I wouldn't last long, but I was a little curious as to how much of Tarkovsky's visual aesthetic had ended up in the game. I decided to head in, spend a few minutes looking around, and then I'd blow it off again. But it turns out that I'm still playing.
I'm not entirely sure what the difference is, but my suspicions, like Jay Leno's chin, are twofold. First, I started paying more attention to the automap in the corner, using it to find stashes and watch for bodies to loot. Second, at some point I was clued in about the location of one of the mission goals that I never previously had been able to find. Unless the player locates a hidden flash drive in one of the underground tunnels, the game basically halts--my first time through, I had no idea where it was.
Which, I'd like to point out, is an easy situation to end up in: the drive is actually hidden in a pipe behind some very poor level design--the lip of the pipe is just slightly too high for the Stalker to step over it, and in the end I had to resort to the old Half-Life trick of jumping forward while crouching (which, in Stalker requires the use of the forward key, the spacebar to jump, and two separate crouch buttons to reach a "low crawl" state. It's a little awkward).
But once past that point, the game has opened up tremendously (especially since that's the first moment when you get a decent weapon). It is, as I told a friend, like Oblivion with Chernobyl-born mutants and AK-47s instead of elves and swords.
As far as the film's influence, I've seen very little on display so far. Stalker does include a number of wide open fields and ruined buildings, but its color palette is much more gloomy and grim than Tarkovsky's--and of course, the first sight of a uniformed soldier dispels any hope that the game will share the movie's character-driven, dialog-heavy atmosphere. The only real similarity I've seen so far is the glow of high-radiation areas: when you stumble into one of these, the screen begins to oversaturate and acquire a kind of film-grain effect that's very striking.
Stalker definitely has its flaws. The AI can be a little wonky, and I've failed missions for what seem to be no apparent reason. The text is barely localized, and NPC conversations are oil-slick shallow. But the game does have its own distinctive atmosphere--the untranslated Russian voices and signposts, the click of the geiger counter, and howling dogs during the dark nights make sure of that. The combat itself has a very different feel from most shooters, but once you get used to it, it's got its charms. All in all, it's an impressive piece of work, as long as you don't get caught on any of the rough edges. I'm enjoying it quite a bit.
Extra credit: For those who might be curious, you can read the original short story that inspired the movie and game, "Roadside Picnic," here, since it seems to be unfortunately out of print elsewhere.
...doing inappropriate rapid application development in Excel: Excel as 3D engine via Rock Paper Shotgun. He exposes the guts of the matrix calculations in the spreadsheet itself, then uses the cells of another as "pixels" for display (an idea that I'm sure most people who've zoomed out on a spreadsheet have thought about). It's all very tongue in cheek, with lots of references to resizable pictures and the engine's "advanced" capabilities. But behind the joke, there is something that I've always found fascinating about working within VBA.
When I was in my first or second year of college, I remember reading about LISP for the first time, back when I thought I might be a programmer for a living. LISP programs are made up entirely of lists inside of other lists, and there's no distinction between program commands and data--you can, quite easily, generate a list of new program instructions and then run them, making LISP very useful for AI research.
What I like about working in Excel or other Office macros is that they can use the document in the same kind of way. If you're working in Excel, you don't need a file system, because you've got the spreadsheet sitting there to hold your data. Using cells for variable storage lets you use the same kinds of tricks that programmers in C might play with memory pointers--but you can see the memory updated right in front of you, stop execution, and dig through the current state of things. In the piece above, if I'm seeing things right, the programmer's even using the math capabilities of the spreadsheet itself, so that the program relies on the recalculated values of individual cells.
I guess I still think that's pretty cool, that a spreadsheet with a few extra lines of code can run its own contents, blurring the lines between a human-readable document and a program.
From Audiosurf via e-mail:
Audiosurf scoreboard alert - Dethroned! You used to have the worldwide best score for: from blown speakers by the new pornographers
Now the Audiosurf player 'Pookums' has beaten you. Get back in the game and reclaim the top spot!
Was that fifteen minutes up already?
Rough estimate of time spent with ridiculously-overpunctuated FPS S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: 5 hours.
Time required to delete local content: About three minutes.
There is, apparently, a niche for post-apocalyptic shooters featuring inaccurate weapons, a practically-vertical difficulty curve, and no hand-holding whatsoever. Unfortunately, I'm not in it.
On the other hand, I enjoy the title of this post enough that it alone might have been worth the $20.
Stalker's other saving grace is that it reminded me to go back and find an abandonware copy of the classic Wasteland. I never made it very far in Wasteland, but it always sticks in my head as having what might have been one of the coolest fusions of copy-protection and storytelling ever made: the manual included 162 paragraphs of in-game text, which would be referenced by number during the game. Using the manual as a verification code was an old trick even by 1989, but incorporating it into the narrative was pretty slick (not to mention that it saved on space). To add to the fun, buried in the 162 paragraphs were several fakes, existing only to mess with cheaters and readers who couldn't help skimming ahead.
20. The Premacorin Mural is a work of art which you have only heard rumors about. It records all human history in one vast display of gaudy colors. At the beginning of the display you see the image of Charles Darwin walking arm-in-arm with an ape in a wedding dress. Next to that you see a youthful Egyptian pharaoh in mummy wrappings and a gold mask dancing on the stage of a place called (according to the neon lights behind him) Radio City Museum of Unnatural History. Proceeding along, you see a masked man brandishing silver six-shooters on the back of a silver Tyrannosaurus, hot on the trail of a mustachioed man wearing a swastika. A fat man in a red uniform with white trim flies through the sky in a sleigh pulled by eight F-19 Stealth bombers. He has bags full of guns, ammo and bombs, which he is freely dropping down to King Arthur and his knights so they can battle Genghis Khan and the Yellow Peril. Yet further on a man in a green and gold uniform (with the number 12 emblazoned on it and a 'G' on the helmet) has just thrown a missile to a man vanishing in the white glow of an atomic mushroom cloud. Finally, at the far end of the wall, you see the ape in its tattered wedding dress, squatting and studying the fire-blackened helmet.There's even very short parody (I think) of the Edgar Rice Burroughs "Princess of Mars" stories buried in there. My favorite paragraph is #145:
145. This paragraph can be reached from no place in the whole adventure. We know who you are, and we will get you for reading this paragraph. Expect it most when you expect it least.
No More Heroes is weird. And that is the understatement of 2008 thus far. But I love it, for a couple of reasons.
For one thing, NMH almost exactly walks the fine line between the completist impulse and the time-budget of adult gamers. For example, there are basketballs hidden all over the game, which (when you take them to an abusive Russian drunk) grant special abilities inspired by the assassin team from Killer 7. There are 49 of these balls hidden around the overworld map. This sounds like the kind of thing that normally drives me nuts: the need to compulsively collect a bunch of random junk in order to be rewarded.
But it turns out that there's a cheap gadget that you can buy from Naomi, the beam-katana engineer, which makes all hidden items appear on the map. And once you've got it, collecting all the basketballs takes only about an hour, if that. So you still get the warm feeling of having gotten all the stupid secret options, without all the wasted time.
A lot of NMH does exactly this: it cons you into thinking that you're doing a lot more work than you're actually doing. The trappings of the visual design evoke 8-bit games, but more than that Grasshopper shows a keen insight into gaming conventions. It's not at all afraid to parody them--the entire overworld map is definitely a joke at the expense of GTA, but it's not the quicksand that many have made it out to be: once you realize that the motorcycle boost (triggered by the Z button) is completely recharged by powersliding (tilt the wiimote and press B), the city takes practically no time to navigate at all.
Now I am one of the few people who seem to have played significant chunks of Killer7, Grasshopper's previous console title, and actually enjoyed some of it. I enjoyed it more in abstract--the convoluted story fascinated me in a Twin Peaks kind of way, but the actual gameplay was just actively hostile to players, in part because at base level it relied on overused puzzle tasks for its challenge. Likewise, I tried to play Contact on DS, but it's basically a weird little RPG wrapped around incredibly boring MMO-style grinding. No thanks. No More Heroes does what neither of these games managed to do: underneath the weirdness and the self-referentiality, it's still fun to play. The wiimote slash, for example, starts off feeling gratuitous, but actually adds a visceral bit of activity to each combo.
The second thing I love about the game, honestly, is the complete and utter lunacy of it all. The looks that I got from Belle just from listening to the speeches--like the insane ranting of Dr. Peace about his estranged family--were priceless. And yet there are moments of pathos, like the death of Holly Summers, that are genuinely a little touching. Not to mention the final boss, which involves a delivery of six or seven plot cliches in a row, followed by denial of those cliches, followed by their re-affirmation in a hilariously self-aware monologue sequence. It's one long double-take.
And then you realize, in the end, that none of it really mattered. It was just so much fun to watch. Ninety percent of NHM is spent wondering "how are they going to screw with me now?" The fact that you don't have to worry about how painful that will be is what makes it possible to keep playing. The combination of the two illustrates that the studio behind these games might have finally learned how to make its high-concept narrative ideas into actual entertainment.
Nine reasons why Invisible War is better than the original Deus Ex:
Although I'm what, three years too late? to complain about Halo, I'm going to do it anyway.
When the game first came out, the standard criticism of its mid-game levels was that they were too cookie-cutter in their repetition, like Bungie just copy-pasted big chunks of architecture through the game. I can see where these complaints come from, but it didn't bother me, because at least you felt like you were making progress.
Halo's biggest sin is not that the level design is a little repetitive. It's the parts in the game where the designers literally lock you into a room and then flood it with repeated waves of enemies. Having restarted the game on Legendary, I fought through a few of these, making it to the first level on the Covenant ship, before finally giving up in disgust. Belle can attest that there was a lot of cursing and shouting along the way. By the point where I gave up, there had been three such situations: one is the initial crash-landing zone, where dropships keep swooping in, followed by the elevator lift that keeps dropping enemy squads, and then finally the first room of the Truth and Reconciliation. That one was the final straw.
Halo fans tend to repeat the same two points over and over again when praising the games. First, they talk about "30 seconds of fun" to defend the fact that Halo never changes and combat never gets more complex. Second, they refer to a pyramid of weapons--firearm, grenade, and melee attack--as being the main balance of Halo. You're supposed to swap between these three options pretty much equally, I guess, and if you can't, you won't get very far. There's no allowing for another play style--I think melee combat in shooters is ridiculous, for example, so the whole "magic triangle" is pretty much ruined for me from the start.
So it's not the endless corridors that get to me. It's the fact that when Halo decides to lock you in, the only option is to fight the way that Bungie wants you to fight: close-up, with no subtlety or potential for evasion, and without any indication when they'll let you go. You're discouraged from trying new approaches, or bringing your own style to the game. In the end, I just don't like the way Bungie wants me to play.
Playing Team Fortress 2 is like a flashback to high school, when I first saw the original being played on Quakeworld at a friend's house. I was hooked. But I was also torn apart every time I tried to play. It was a hardcore crowd, that game. And the Classic version that came out a few years later wasn't any easier.
So it's nice that TF2 is not really being made for the hardcore, as the developers confirmed lately. The classes are more cleanly defined now, so that the supporting roles actually support, instead of being hidden offensive classes at the hands of crazed obsessive players. I'm looking at you, Medic.
But it is still possible, even in the limited beta, to get wiped out by better teams--usually not better players, although that happens, but actual teams that are obviously linked up in either a physical location or by voice. In a game like this, that communication is deadly. There are several classes--the scout, the pyro, and to some extent the spy--that I don't think come into their own until they're really used as part of a team effort. To their credit, Valve has built a voice system into Steam that should make this possible even in pickup rounds, except for one little stumbling block: it weirds me out to hear other people talking when I'm playing video games.
Actually, I think it's more that I don't like hearing strangers online. People I know would probably be more palatable, maybe. But either way, it's a new experience, having someone's voice in my ear. And the vast majority of gamers--strike that, the vast majority of people--are not mouths that you want to imagine in close proximity to your head. It may be that turning them down, so that they blend in with the soundtrack a bit more, would get me past the discomfort.
Optimally, I join a clan with Gina Gershon and Shingai Shoniwa. Barring that, I'd probably prefer voice-to-text options--less lag, faster messaging. But maybe I'm looking at this the wrong way. Perhaps there's an opportunity here. Speech training for gamers: who's up for a class?