Thrills, spills and QTEs

themepark

I watched The Hobbit the other day, and it was actually better than I’d expected, although that may have been down to my extended campaign of expectation lowering more than the film itself. It definitely felt a bit too long, especially any time the elves are on screen and… talking… very… slo…w…ly because they’re immortal and can speak as slowly as they like without worrying about wasting their lives when they could be doing something more interesting like slaying orcs or going on theme park rides.

And speaking of theme park rides (how convenient!), there’s a scene near the end of The Hobbit where Bilbo and Gandalf and the dwarves are enjoying some thrills-and-spills escapades – escaping from some goblins and their big-chinned king in a special effects bonanza, with dwarves and goblins flying from bridges which fall seconds later in a huge abyss while axes fly, acrobatics are performed and goblin heads become separated from bodies like a sudden flurry of dandelions – which goes on for a long time, and it made me have a thought, which was: this is boring.

Here’s a short snippet of it, possibly with an annoying advert to sit through as well:

This scene probably had millions of dollars spent on it, and was the work of god-knows-how-many people; storyboarders, artists, animators, CG-doers, camerapeople, etc, and it was certainly very flashy. The whole thing was most wonderfully choreographed and there were loads of bits where the dwarves did clever things like stab a goblin in the face one way, then reach over his shoulder and stab another goblin without looking before somersaulting backwards over a chasm and more stabbing blah bla

You get the idea. It’s a very typical modern chase/fight scene; the heroes are chased through an incredible set-piece, with enemies flying all over the place and hundreds of coincidental lucky escapes packed into a few frantic minutes of film, at the end of which they dust themselves off and come out with some pithy line or raise one eyebrow slightly as if acknowledging the ironic nature of the whole thing makes it OK.

There is no danger in these scenes, beyond mild peril and strictly choreographed CGI shenanigans. There is no risk to the characters, beyond having to recover slightly squashed hat. They’re theme park rides, with all the tension of a warm flannel and cucumber eye mask.

Here’s the hugely over-long wheel scene from Pirates of the Caribbean 2 or 3 (appropriately, I’ve forgotten and I can’t be bothered looking it up):

To be fair, these drama-lite sequences are most often found in what are essentially kids’ films – assorted Pirates of the Caribbeans, The Hobbit, Harry Potter – but as CG has become more prevalent, specials effects have got better and film budgets in general have got bigger then this silliness gets into films for all ages. This is a Bad Thing.

Consider older scenes like the dirt bike vs truck chase scene in Terminator 2, in which a young Edward Furlong rides his crappy little bike along a concrete flood control channel. There are no stupid backflips, or dwarves surfing wooden bridges down valleys, but it’s a great scene; there’s a sense of real danger, that he might not make it – you’re not sure what’s going to happen next.

Likewise, the epic scene in Children of Men where Theo runs through an old apartment block in search of Kee. There’s shit flying everywhere in this scene, and the whole thing is one long shot (it’s actually clever editing, but hey), but despite the judicious application of special effects it feels dangerous. Clive Owen, as Theo, stumbles and cowers his way through the building that’s being shot to pieces around him, and he’s a world away from the smug dramatic immunity of Jack Sparrow or Spiderman or Legolas.

This is a different, but equally good chase scene from Children of Men – contains SPOILERS, if you haven’t seen the film:

<not actually embedding this one because the thumbnail itself contains spoilers!>

I’m sure this scene was closely choreographed as well, but it comes across as chaotic and haphazard (in a good way!) nonetheless.

I think there’s a parallel between these kind of scenes and the semi-interactive scenes in games known as Quick Time Events, or QTEs. QTEs are segments where the player has watch a sequence while occasionally pressing a button to make something happen – dodging a bullet or throwing a punch, for example. They’re generally crap and annoying – “panned by journalists and players alike” – but they turn up in game after game.

Some modern games, like the new Tomb Raider, seem at points like they’re nothing but one long QTE. Some old games like Dragon’s Lair were actually nothing but QTEs; whole games were made where you did nothing but press individual buttons at the right time to make a character kiss the dragon, slay the princess etc etc, using the new-at-the-time LaserDisc format to maximise the amount of time you were idly watching stuff happen.

Tomb Raider

QTEs (and cut-scenes in general) are infamous for they way they remove all meaningful control from the player. The player-character often suddenly becomes either a super-skilled ninja or a fumbling incompetent, determined by the needs of the scene, and QTEs make this particularly grating because they force you to be complicit in whatever happens.

Developers seem to put these things in games because they’re meant to create drama and help the narrative unfold but what they actually do is remove any element of risk and kill any narrative stone-dead. In the same way as big CGI chase scenes, QTEs are tightly choreographed and there is only one way things are going to work out. If you make a mistake then you die and the thing starts again, usually making you listen to the same terrible dialogue over and over again; there’s no skill, no danger.

I fidget my way through QTEs, only half-listening, the same way I sat through most of the Hobbit. I’d like to see fewer QTEs and fewer pointless CGI-fest chase scenes. Give me danger! Give me uncertainty! Anything but more theme park rides…

CUBD: can you think in 3D?

I made a game! I’ve been working on it on and off for about six months, between work and freelance projects, and it’s finally ready enough to be released.

It’s called Cubed, and it’s probably best described as a 3D action-puzzle game – think Bejewelled meets Rubik’s Cube. You have to turn sections of the cube to make groups of three or more cubes of the same colour, then click them to remove them from play.

More cubes appear to fill the gaps over time, and the higher your score goes the faster the cubes appear – then when the main puzzle is full you’ve got five seconds to clear some space before it’s game over.

It’s always hard being objective about your own projects, but I’m pretty pleased with it overall. I find that when I’m testing it I often start actually playing it for real, which I think must be a good sign…

It’s built in Flash using the Away3D library, which is powerful but seriously lacking in documentation; I spent a good few nights trying to work out the difference between project() and unproject() and figuring out how transformation matrices worked, with very little support from the library. Once you do find the right function to call, though, it’s pretty easy to set up cameras, light and textures.

I’m in the process of porting it to iOS, which has mostly been fine – the actual process of exporting it for iOS (after struggling through Apple’s ridiculous Developer Program nonsense) is pretty straightforward. What caused me several late nights, though, was the change from mouse events to touch events.

I don’t know if it’s an artefact of Air for iOS, or Away3D, or the specific interactions I was trying to create – or a combination of all of the above – but I encountered a really frustrating bug. I could touch and drag and lift, and that all worked fine, but when I next touched the screen the MOUSE_DOWN event registered at the place the previous MOUSE_UP event triggered.

This was such a weird bug that it took me a while to realise what was actually happening, and then even longer to try and work a way round it. I ended up dumping MOUSE_DOWN events altogether, and substituting MOUSE_OVER instead – when the user touches the screen the “cursor” jumps to that spot, triggering the event.

This worked fine until I installed the Air 3.5 Beta SDK, which broke MOUSE_LEAVE and MOUSE_UP events, and gave me another sleepless night until I realised the SDK was the problem and went back to 3.2. I’m probably missing out on exciting new functionality, but it just wasn’t worth the hassle of having core functionality broken!

UI-wise, I’ve tried to keep everything really stripped back and simple, focusing on interesting interactions rather than complex gameplay mechanics. One big challenge was working out the user’s intention when turning segments of the cube: there are three possible interactions for any cube, turning in X, Y, or Z, and since input devices only function in 2D I have to set rules about what happens when you move the mouse a certain way.

The game projects your movements into 3D space and tries to guess which way you’re trying to spin the cube. This is guesswork, ultimately, but I think the results are generally pretty consistent, and when I’ve watched people play Cubed they pick it up quickly. In general, the iOS version is even better at this, because it removes the mediation of having to interact with the mouse. There’s something really nice and tactile that makes playing on a touchscreen more immediate and more satisfying.

You can get CUBD for iOS here and the game has its own site here. Enjoy!

Why serious games and non-gamers don’t mix.

Now, I’ve got nothing against people who don’t play games. I mean, some of my best friends don’t play games. But people who don’t play games shouldn’t be put in charge of making games.

I’m talking specifically about “serious” games here, although I’d imagine the same goes for other kinds too; this post is inspired by a recent long, bad and annoying experience making games for a large learning website, and I wanted to try and sum up my feelings about the project and what I’d learned along the way.

Serious games have “a point”, which is to say they have some information they would like you to take away into the real world. They’re often produced for schools or educational sites, or to support things like charity or awareness-raising campaigns. And they’re generally shite.

Now, I don’t have a problem with serious games per se, but the vast majority have too much serious and not enough game. I firmly believe that games should be fun, first and foremost. When you’re making a game, fun should be prioritised over learning, educational content, quizzes, badges, social play gubbins or everything and anything else the client would like to bolt on.

Obviously the aim is to make something that’s genuinely useful and educational as well as being ridiculously good fun, but the sweet spot where fun and suitable subject matter meet is really pretty small – and unless your client “gets” games then you’re going to be pulling in different directions, which makes hitting that target virtually impossible. The upshot of this is that you often end up having to choose between fun and serious, either focusing on gameplay or pushing the serious content to the front.

If a game is fun but only gets across half your message, then that’s pretty good going. People will play the game and enjoy it, leaving positive impressions and happy memories – and at least some of your serious information.

But if a game isn’t fun then people won’t play it, regardless of how well it conveys your message or teaches your content. And players-not-playing is a best-case scenario; at worst, you’ll actually turn people off a subject they might have been interested in before they even really had a chance to get to grips with it.

Unfortunately, if your clients don’t get games, then they probably won’t see it that way. To a non-gaming client, a game is nothing more than a vehicle for delivering information – essentially a web page that moves around and makes noises – and that lack of understanding means serious content gets prioritised over fun or playability.

Modern gamers enjoy a multi-billion-pound industry dedicated to making stuff that is fun – they can afford to be picky. If you think they’ll play your game that’s kind-of-a-bit-fun when they could be playing the new super-fun Gears of Duty 17 you’re sadly mistaken.

The problem for me is that people who don’t play games often don’t get games. They don’t understand the flow of games; the joy of discovery and what makes them fun; the playfulness of a well-crafted game mechanic and the learning that can come from play rather than reading stuff in a book. They don’t get the ebb and flow of risk and reward or the satisfaction of a perfectly-timed recovery or counterstrike.

Not all non-gamers are like this, obviously. There are plenty who still have an appreciation of the art of game design, or are open-minded enough to accept that there might be things they don’t understand about games. These people are great to work with.

But these lovely people seem few and far between. The digital industry is dominated by the worst kind of non-gamers – people who simply don’t seem to care about gameplay, or understand when a mechanic doesn’t work, and who just want to shoehorn facts in wherever possible because otherwise the player can’t possibly be learning anything. And they’re often the ones in charge.

You can see the effect of this firsthand – just play virtually any e-learning game, because the vast majority are shite. They’re boring, and there’s often little to no actual gameplay; most should be classed as “activities” or “quizzes” rather than games. They take some educational content and digitise it, wrapping facts up in something that looks like a game but really, really isn’t.

When there is gameplay, it’s either perfunctory or completely split from the learning – often in a play a bit, learn a bit, play a bit kind of structure where you finish a level of play and then have to complete a quiz before you can progress.

These things are the bastard offspring of badly made Flash games and those deadly-dull teachers whose lessons seemed to stretch on forever. These “games” aren’t fun or educational for a lot of reasons (usually because no-one can be bothered to play past the first level) and the only realistic response to the stupid inter-level quizzes is listlessly clicking at random until you get the right answer.

Throwing more serious content into a broken game will not make players learn more – if anything, you’ll just turn them off even quicker.

These kind of non-fun time-wasters get made over and over again – but we wanted to do something different. We wanted to make games that are fun, where the player can learn by playing, rather than by alternating play and learning.

Gamers know that when you’re playing a game you are learning, while not necessarily “being educated” in the classical sense  – and that kind of learning can be powerful stuff. Why show someone a picture of a process in a book when you could use a game to bring that process to life, let people experiment, muck around, mess up and actually, literally, play with it?

Games can’t replace lessons and teachers – but they can complement each other. Games can spark interest in subjects and help bring subjects to life. For example, an intelligent game where the player uses gravity and momentum to battle foes could well inspire a child to ask “But why do things fall down? Why do things move in a particular way?”

A well-crafted complementary lesson could take that spark of interest and help it grow, perhaps even teaching the theory in such a way that players can take their new knowledge back into the game to improve their scores.

Sadly, making games like this is a difficult process, and prone to being derailed by non-gaming people who don’t see how anyone could learn from a game that doesn’t have a quiz in it. Games get treated as lesson-replacement activities, crammed full of “educational” material and thrown out into the cruel world to fend for themselves.

The lesson I’ve learned is that it’s best not to try to make a game that teaches through gameplay unless you’re sure everyone’s on the same page. Without buy-in and understanding from the client you’ll end up with an awkward halfway house of a game that pleases no-one; not fun enough for kids and not enough educational content to stand up in class alongside videos and textbooks.

There’s a reason most e-learning games are crap. The games industry is mature enough to move forward and start making games like this – but I don’t think the public has got the message yet, and until everyone client (and agency) side is on board then making decent serious games will be very, very difficult.

Prison Architect seems controversial – but why?

You’d think after the years of games about murder, warfare, genocide, alien invasion and all that jazz that a game about prisons could slip by without comment, but no.

A preview of Prison Architect, a sim-management game where you have to design and maintain a prison, drew all kind of interesting comments like:

“I’m honestly shocked at the pass this game is getting from the press. […] I don’t see much of difference between making this game and making Theme Auschwitz.”

i saw dasein on RPS

Um. Really?

Many modern games are violence-filled, narrow-minded murder simulators in which you gun down hundreds of enemies and innocents alike in the course of a level – so what makes a game about a prison so controversial?

Maybe it depends on your attitude to prisons: are they places where evil people should go to die, or are they places where people who are a danger to themselves and others be kept while they’re rehabilitated? Do people who’ve broken the law deserve a second chance?

Should your virtual prison be a hellhole where the strong prey on the weak, or a place where even the most depraved child molester can feel safe?

Most modern games don’t give you that kind of moral choice. GTA has a big, open world where you can just about choose who to work for, but there’s no moral judgement about what goes on – you can shag a prostitute in a dingy alley then beat her to death with a bat and steal her money and the game passes no judgement.

Mass Effect lets you make decisions about what to say to who, but the far-flung nature of the setting means that those decisions only really matter in the game; there’s nothing to make you think about how what you did might affect other people in the real world.

FPS games are even worse; you’re generally a one-man killing machine scything down hordes of Germans, Japanese, Russians or whatever flavour of generic Arabic-looking “insurgents” are the enemy du-jour with nary a thought for the consequences of your actions.

You’re literally only following orders, a theme that’s personified as much in the endless unimaginative linear corridors and set-pieces as it is when your cipher character receives his next objective via video comlink from four-star General Brasstacks McShouty. You shoot people because that’s what you’re there for; stopping to think will only get you killed.

Maybe modern shooters would be better if you had to think about whether cluster-bombing a small town is a good thing, but it seems like a lot of people have a blind spot for war when it comes to unacceptable behaviour. If the too-close-to-home setting and theme of Prison Architect makes you stop and think about what you’re doing – and what that would mean in the real world – then great.

The story – the why – of games is very easily pushed out by gameplay. When you’re shooting virtual insurgents in the wilds of Afghanistan it’s easy to lose sight of why you’re even there in the first place; much like in real life, I‘d imagine.

I’m all in favour of games that actually make you think about things, or push you out of your comfort zone, as long as they’re still fun. Games have potential to be so much more than the facile, thoughtless sofa-bound entertainment that modern games so often are.

It’s encouraging that Introversion, the small indie dev behind others games like DefCon, have form for making stylistic, thought-provoking games about difficult subjects. If Prison Architect can make people think again about a serious subject like prisons while still being fun then I’m all for it.

Simulation sickness in the crosshairs

Here’s an interesting factlet: the humble crosshair, mostly used to aid you in pointing guns at stuff, is also useful for preventing motion sickness. This may be old news for anyone who actually suffers from simulation sickness when playing games, but I stumbled across it while reading about Mirror’s Edge on Wikipedia, and thought it was an elegant solution to a problem.

Simulation sickness is caused by the dissonance between the input from your eyes and your inner ear. The increasingly realistic virtual environments of games, especially first-person shooters, fool your eyes into thinking that you’re actually moving, but your inner ear stubbornly insists – correctly – that you’re actually sitting still. The mismatch between the two signals plays all kinds of havoc in your brain, although some people are more susceptible than others.

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What makes a game scary, and why does it matter?

Picture the scene: you’re creeping through a tight, dark tunnel (probably a sewer of some kind). There’s something down here with you: you can hear it, growling, somewhere close by. You inch forward, round another corner – but there’s nothing there. You breathe a sigh of relief and turn, only to find a drooling pointy-toothed demon thing about to do you some serious misdeed.

Do you:

  1. Shit the bed and run.
  2. Alt + F4 and go to bed.
  3. Dispense with the pleasantries and shoot the crap out of it with your newly upgraded DemonSlayer 4000 assault rifle.

Now in most games, the obvious answer is likely to be 3. Because that’s how most games work – even the scary ones. If you have a problem, then guns are usually the solution. Games like Fear F.E.A.R F3AR are excellent examples of this school of thought. There’s loads of creeping round dinghy warehouses and a lot of jumpy moments when a creepy little girl pops out and eats your brains or whatever – but is that really scary?

More (frankly terrifying) musings after the jump.

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Dear Esther: what are you?

The most important thing to know about Dear Esther is that it’s not a game. You buy it through Steam, install it the same way and load it up to a familiar Half Life menu, then you use the familiar WASD to walk around. It feels like it should be a game, but it isn’t.

There are no aliens, or explosions, or guns. There’s no score and very little to tell you where to go. Dear Esther is a story, pure and simple: a haunting, introspective and obscure interactive story. It begins on the desolate shore of an island, and gives you no clues about who you are or what’s going on. There’s nothing to aim for and no objectives – the only thing to do is start wandering.

As you start exploring the shoreline you hear short pieces of a jumbled monologue, as your character sorts through fragments of thoughts and memory, and over the course of the story you start to piece together what’s going on. Dear Esther deals with unusual themes for a game – loss, isolation and sadness, and there’s no tidy resolution at the end. Much of the narrative and metaphors of the story are left unexplained for the player to ponder; even the final screen of the game gives nothing away, leaving you to drift with no explanation until you decide to quit.

More after the jump…

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Dead Island – a shambling undead corpse of a game.

Dead Island is hard game to like. It took me a good few hours to even get it to the point where I could play it, scouring the internet for fixes, tweaks and player-created files to get rid of its various bugs and errors. I did eventually get it working, and have been merrily stoving zombies’ heads in with spades for a few days now. Here’s what I think of it.

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Stumbling through the dark in LA Noire

LA Noire caught me by surprise when a PC version was released. It was released on console first, with no indication that there’s be a PC port, and by the time it was announced the game had already seemingly been played by anyone who was going to  play it. Apart from me, apparently. I picked up the Complete version, which includes all the DLC, for about £18, and have been playing to see whether it really is the flawed masterpiece it’s made out to be.

The big feature of LA Noire is the facial animation. Through a combination of black magic and Hannibal Lector-style face surgical face-removal (probably) Rockstar and Bondi have transplanted proper actors’ faces into the game in an incredibly realistic way.

The facial detail and animation is amazing. I actually recognised actors’ faces, rather than just their voices – and that’s a good thing, considering that half the cast of Mad Men is in it. In some ways it really works. There’s something recognisably human about the characters’ movement and emotions, and while there’s definitely a touch of the uncanny valley about the characters (and their weird shiny skin) it’s a far step beyond the barely-animated square-jawed space marines we’re used to.

And it’s not just pretty – it’s central to the gameplay. Your role as a detective is to interview witnesses, using their body language and facial tics to deduce whether they’re telling the truth or trying to hide something from you. It’s a great idea, and the promise of such subtle interactions between the player and the characters sounded like it has the potential to be something really special, but the gameplay isn’t quite the revelation that I was hoping for. Despite all the other advancements, it still feels like the meat of the game hasn’t progressed far from its roots in old-school point-and-click games.

The problem is that I don’t ever feel like I’m a detective unravelling a reluctant witness’ story – I feel like I’m playing a computer game, trying to guess what the maker of the computer game was thinking when they put this interview together.

In conversations you can choose to say a person is telling the truth, cast doubt on their statements or accuse them of lying. Each witness statement has a “right” answer that you determine by assessing their behaviour. This is where all those pop-psychology articles come in handy – signs of lying include fidgeting, not looking you in the eye and all that jazz. This bit is fairly straight-forward, because all you have to do is interpret the signs.

But where it gets difficult (and frustrating) is choosing what to do next. When you accuse a witness of lying you have to back up your accusation with evidence. I was interviewing a guy in a dodgy car workshop, trying to sweat the truth out of him. He claimed to know nothing about any stolen-car racket, and demanded that I show some proof. I check my notebook. I’ve got notes about a load of forged proofs of purchase, a big box of dodgy documents I found in his office, information about a car racket and a few other things. Frustratingly, I know he’s guilty, and I know that one of these things is the right answer, but in my head there are any number of ways each of these things could be connected – with only one attempt to get it right these sections can be pretty frustrating.

In these situations making the right choice is less about getting into the narrative and playing the game and more about trying to think which one of these things the game developer thought was the most appropriate. It’s like filling in a really annoying form, where an ambiguously labelled “ID Number” box might require a passport number, national insurance number or even some other random thing no-one’s told you about, but there’s no clue which is the right answer. Rather than just doing it, you spend the whole time second-guessing the author.

Fittingly for a game called LA Noire, these sections felt a bit like stumbling round in the dark. The facial animation is amazing, all the more so for how quickly I got used to it and actually missed it in other games – Skyrim’s population felt distinctly like furniture rather than characters, in comparison – but it’s a shame the rest of the gameplay hasn’t quite caught up yet.

Games and gamification: tiresome fun, gaming the system and playing to learn.

Gamification gets a lot of bad press. And it’s true: there’s a lot of bad, mad and just plain stupid gamification out there. Whether it takes the form of pointless points, badges, stupid progress bars, high-score tables or missions and achievements that no-one even nearly cares about, gamification has become the kind of creative bogeyman that people swap stories about in the pub and roll their eyes when a client mentions it.

Gamification can spoil things – and usually not in an obviously broken way, but with a more subtle kind of damage, where a system of points, badges and awards has slipped in like a cuckoo and replaced functionality, content or actual gameplay. It’s often thrown over other ideas like a suffocating blanket in an attempt to make things more “sticky” or addictive, usually accompanied by talk of engagement and eyeballs.

It’s easy to confuse something that’s commonly misused with something that isn’t actually any good in the first place. Where does gamification commonly go wrong, and what does that say about how to do it right?

Long post after the break…

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