Games Of The Year 2010 #2

Yesterday I offered you the first handful of games that stood out to me throughout 2010 and talked about the elements of them that I'd like to see pursued in the future. Today I give you the rest.

Limbo

Of all the games to feature on my list, this is probably the hardest one to describe and to articulate my thoughts with. Like Flower from 2009, Limbo left a strong and important mark on my gaming career, but for reasons of which I’m not entirely sure.

It’s a beautiful game, the silhouette, shadowy art direction being a pleasure to see in screenshots and an absolute wonder in motion. Its use of silence was particularly endearing, both because so few games use silence effectively and because it enhanced the imagery on screen to create an experience that is unique. It’s brutal; communicates a sense of longing and bravery; and what you discover is at once terrifying and ominous, yet it’s these factors that make progress through the game so compelling and rewarding. It’s also short, sweet, and surprisingly emotional: the very example of the potential downloadable games have as well as what amazing things can be achieved within the indie space. Despite some claims that the farther it goes along, the sillier it gets, nothing in Limbo feels out of place and all of it feels like it was included for a reason. The obligatory discussion about whether it’s an example of art or not is, in my mind, irrelevant -- what Limbo is, is an experience like no other, and a game that deserves to be played regardless of whether you end up liking it or not. It takes an aesthetic, simplicity in its presentation yet complexity in its design, and contends with themes that don’t exist anywhere else, combines them, and creates a game that is just a sheer delight to experience. And, perhaps, it is that last word that explains why it features on this list: it’s not just another game and when you are done, it will stay in your mind rather than be forgotten. If that’s not the sign of something worth attempting again in the future, nothing is.

Minecraft

Indie darling, breakout hit and my personal addiction, Minecraft surprised everybody when it became a phenomenon, including the game’s creator Notch who was suddenly a millionaire. But, when you look at what Minecraft provides and the kind of game it delivers, it’s not as surprising as it initially seems.

A true sandbox title, Minecraft’s best asset is you, the player. The reason for that is simple: Minecraft is what you make of it. Much has been said about the game’s creative side, reminding people of Lego due to its blocky worlds and the enjoyment people have had making insane creations such as replicas of various real life constructs, interpretations of fantasy locations and the demonstrations of ingenuity, particularly using Red Stone. Others again have focused on the kind of experience Minecraft delivers, discussing its survival horror elements thanks to the need to find shelter at night to defend (read: hide) from the game’s enemies; its breed of fantasy born out of ‘waking up’ in a strange new land, uncertain of what you may find; and even on the platforming elements that come from climbing the game’s many mountains and caverns. That last one is a bit of a stretch but such is the imagination that Minecraft inspires in people and the dreaming they can’t help but do when it comes to the game’s world, crucial due to the way in which it is procedurally generated and unique to each individual who plays. So far, I’ve focused on my own feelings that I’ve had during the game, and the subtle but effective ways in which it can tell a story, despite not having a predetermined narrative (yet). There’s plenty more I want to talk about in the near future so I won’t go into detail here, but needless to say, Minecraft is on this list because it caters to a variety of play-styles and player desires, puts us in a world that is at once fascinating and entirely our own, and contains an insane amount of complexity hidden behind its simple art direction and accessible mechanics. It’s popular for a reason, amazing for so much more, and is the perfect example of how to captivate an audience and keep them interested through regular additions and, more importantly, through their own, personally defined goals. This is emergent gameplay at its purest and definitely a game other developers, indie or otherwise, should look to as they chase the ever elusive emergent gameplay prize. Amusingly, the game isn’t even finished yet and as we play, we’re all helping to develop it into something that should be even more special. Based on what we have already, the future is incredibly exciting for not just the game, but the impact it will have on the medium as well.

F1 2010

It is pretty obvious by now that I’m absolutely in love with this game, my praise shortly after release coming thick and fast, and the role-playing series that followed demonstrating a desire to not only experiment with my writing and approach to games, but to inhabit the world of Formula 1 and see what comes of it. Whether that series has been successful or not is up to you but as far as the game itself is concerned, it is the best F1 game to come out in a long time and does everything a licensed game should.

F1 2010 is more than just the tracks, the drivers and the cars; it’s about the lifestyle, the spectacle and the celebration of speed, technology and engineering (sound familiar?) as well. It’s about the ability to go as fast as possible around a track, as smoothly as possible and with a skill and finesse that isn’t just tricky to master, but something that can’t be replicated anywhere else. It’s about the highs and lows that come with each race, the drama and the emotion that result from it, and the desire to work harder than before to overcome and ultimately master any issues that may arise, be it from performance, mechanical components of the car, or the constant need to improve one’s driving style. It’s about entertaining the fans whilst satisfying the team, and meeting your own personal expectations, whatever they may be. In other words, it’s about the sport of Formula 1 and as such, it delivers the life and passion of motorsport as well as the brand and culture, culminating in a game that transcends its genre (and thus, competititon), elevates a sport that’s sometimes hidden behind the celebrities and controversy, and puts people on the track instead of behind the (virtual) wheel. The fact it was Codemasters’ first attempt, while impressive, is irrelevant; that it goes above and beyond what it means to utilize a license effectively highlights not only what can be done, but why it should be in the first place.

Which begs the question: when’s F1 2011 coming out…? ;)

Heavy Rain

Something has to be said for a game’s quality if it has the power to whisk someone obsessed with another title -- which we’ll get to in a minute -- away and obtain their full attention through sheer amazement over what was just experienced. Heavy Rain did this for me, and even now, months after release and after a series of posts discussing the game, I’m still not sure I can explain why.

Ever since it was announced and I heard what Quantic Dream were attempting with Heavy Rain, combined with my enthusiasm for their previous game Fahrenheit, I was hooked and couldn’t wait to see what the final product would bring. Despite devouring any morsel of information I could find, the end result still surprised me and, like Alan Wake, I think it is purely because of the story and its characters. Unlike Alan Wake, however, Heavy Rain’s narrative was about as real as you can get in games today, focusing on themes that have never been explored (in a serious way, at least) previously, and centering the entire game around a father’s love for his children, and the lengths he would go to ensure their safety and wellbeing. Its mechanics may be a mixed bag of success and frustration; some of its characters may have not met their potential or were exploited in an unnecessary, silly way; and the eventual outcome and reveal of the Origami Killer may be disappointing -- both because it may have not been who you were expecting or wanted it to be, and because no matter how your personal story pans out, the person is the same -- but Heavy Rain delivered on its promise of a realistic narrative which ensures its position here. Its characters -- like it or not -- get under your skin, and that’s something few other games can achieve. To say Heavy Rain had to happen would be an understatement; to be thankful that it did would be to appreciate what it did manage to achieve, as well as highlight to the industry that this sort of thing -- regardless of how successful or not it happens to be -- needs to be explored further if we’re to truly obtain legitimacy as a creative, artistic medium, if not the dominant one.

BioShock 2

Surprise, surprise, a BioShock game is on the list. Come on though, as if it wouldn’t be -- you are reading a blog whose name was inspired by the franchise.

Personal bias aside, however, BioShock 2 would have made the list anyway because, quite frankly, it was just so damn good. It isn’t easy releasing a sequel to a game that has gone on to become one of the medium’s best, and one that is constantly referred to when discussing important subjects. Not since Grand Theft Auto III have we had a game (and now franchise) that has inspired such reverence and discussion (Portal aside), and as such any follow up would be scrutinized. And BioShock 2 was, copping criticism by people who were strangely (in my opinion at least) sick of Rapture; who didn’t enjoy the gameplay a second time around; and who wanted it to be, perhaps unrealistically, better than the first game. The thing is it was better than the first game, maybe not in terms of the awe and beauty that the original displayed but certainly in terms of refinement of the game’s mechanics and definitely in the way in which it framed the hallowed, empty halls of Rapture in a new light. And it is this last point that is the most important: the new perspective BioShock 2 brought to Rapture didn’t just show us another side of the city, it changed it from being Andrew Ryan’s baby to being everyone’s, through its emphasis on highlighting the people rather than the power. The areas we visited in the first game were created for Rapture’s dignitaries and people of importance, as well as designed to showcase the unique personality and extreme attitudes that Andrew Ryan so incessantly portrayed, further exacerbated by the opposition struggle led by Fontaine. BioShock 2’s version of Rapture, on the other hand, doesn’t just showcase the areas in which the ‘common-folk’ live, it showcases why they’re just as important, if not more so, than the big-shot personalities found in the likes of the Medical Pavilion and Fort Frolic. By doing so, it provides insight into the inner workings of the city as a whole and illuminates the emotion, morals and resolve that its inhabitants have -- whether Ryan or Fontaine recognised it or not. It may have introduced a new power, of sorts, with Sophia Lamb, and the importance of family -- particularly as far as the Little Sisters are concerned -- certainly played an integral role, but it was this new perspective with which to view Rapture that elevated BioShock 2 beyond sequel status and into the history books as a game worthy of attention, perhaps more so than its predecessor.

Throw in the astonishing and incredible downloadable add-on Minerva’s Den, which further defined the city through yet another perspective and demonstrated so easily just how many stories are still yet to be told within those walls deep in the depths of the ocean, and you have a game that doesn’t just improve on what’s come before, but reinvents it and boasts to the world that anything you can do, can be done better. It is this mantra, whether you believe it fits the game or not, that needs to be acknowledged in the wider industry and, with any luck, is one that will become a motivation in the years to come. Best of all, for someone like me? Rapture may be dead as far its production and celebration of the self is concerned, but it has never been more alive when it comes to its potential and what can be discovered amongst its walls. All we have to do is visit it and explore it, the rest will happen naturally.

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So there you have it, my choices for 2010’s best games. Like all of you no doubt, I didn’t get to play everything that I wanted to during the year -- and I’m frustrated with myself for not being able to play games that were particularly high on my anticipation list -- but what I did experience was amazing and certainly suggests to me that gaming hasn’t just evolved, but that it is well on its way to a bigger, brighter and important future. Personally, the ability to inhabit brave new worlds whilst experiencing fascinating stories -- if not creating them ourselves -- was a really strong thing to take away from 2010, as was the celebration of the old, new and the processes in which they are made. Game spaces, stories and new perspectives were all important to me and, I have no doubt, will continue to be as we turn our attention to 2011. Based on the games I'm already chomping on the bit to play, it looks like this year will certainly give the last a run for its money -- no mean feat when you recall just how packed it was, and just what it brought to the table. Don't you just love videogames?

Silent But Deadly

Resident Evil 5 is a controversial entry in the long-running franchise, dividing its audience by iterating on the fabulous additions its predecessor Resident Evil 4 brought to the table whilst also taking the series in a direction that is a far cry from its original roots. Action and spectacle are the order of the day, leaving scares and a general feeling of eeriness by the wayside. Co-operative play was the game’s central focus, and while what that means is the subject for another post, the end result is a fun, impressive installment in the franchise that just isn’t scary, period -- not a criticism in its own right, but when considered alongside the franchise’s history, it is definitely something worth contemplating.

Contrast and compare this with Alan Wake -- a game which I’ll have more about soon -- and its emphasis on atmosphere and ambience to create an eerie, uneasy experience where you never know what to expect, what will happen and, more importantly, when. Alan Wake’s model is the more commonly seen amongst today’s supposedly scary games, the genre’s reliance on atmosphere in particular reaching varying degrees of success. This is the model that Resident Evil established itself on, and while that series used cheap “Boo!” scares to scare its players, it still paved the way for games like Alan Wake. Both Resident Evil 5 and Alan Wake are loud games, then, in that there’s always a haunting score or chilling sound effect to be heard, and disturbing, omnipresent darkness or growling, menacing enemies to fight. The moments of silence are quickly punctuated by the sounds of the unknown, and the vividly black darkness soon gives way to sudden bursts of light, usually at the same time as an enemy overwhelms you with its attacks. It’s visceral, it’s definitely immersive, but it’s a model that is arguably overdone and loses its impact over time. Something less frequent than loud, moody survival horror games are titles that use silence to create their tone, and cleverly placed aural and visual assets to achieve moments of uncertainty: moments of fear.

I’ve been playing an absolute legend in videogame history recently, its re-release on the Xbox Live Arcade allowing me to finally experience the game fully rather than in short, minimal bursts. Doom II is one of the grandfathers of the first-person shooting genre, its classic status deserved for a multitude of reasons ranging from its impeccable level design to the stupid fun that can be had with its double-barreled shotgun. One element of the game was an unexpected surprise, however, something that I couldn’t get a decent grasp of back when I played it at school or at friends’ houses; Doom II is bloody scary, so much so that I’d argue it is more creepy and daunting than any of the games we see released today. It was scary for the players who got to experience it back in its heyday, and it is scary now, in 2010, when technology’s incredible progress means that the game should have been surpassed years ago.

But it is not scary in the traditional sense, the horror that we normally associate with the Resident Evils and Silent Hills of the world. Instead of haunting sounds and disturbing imagery, Doom II is violent and distinctly alien, the endless onslaught of Cyberdemons and Imps keeping things fast, frantic and inherently fun. Yet, I would argue, the game is the complete opposite of the slow-burn scares of more recognized survival horror games: it might be fast, it might be furious, but it’s also silent and that simple fact makes it far more creepier, freakier and terrifying than any zombie, monster or creature found in a more common horror game.

Silence is something I think is overlooked in the videogame industry and it’s somewhat ironic that a game that was released years ago exemplifies why it should be used more often. When you play Doom II, you do it because you want to shoot some aliens using some pretty damn awesome weaponry, but as you do you enter a world where the mere sound of an Imp that you can’t see; the sudden roar of a Cacodemon as he edges ever closer to you; or the punctuating sound of a Zombieman’s gunfire, gets to you, putting you on the edge of your seat and instilling an overwhelming sense of fear inside you.

Another game achieves a similar result, but again for different reasons. Instead of the lingering atmosphere of the typical survival horror, or the imposing dread of Doom II, Limbo is scary because it is weird; frightening because it is strange; and irrevocably eerie because it is brutally sadistic. Taking full advantage of a minimal presentation and design, and creating its own unique atmosphere through its clever use of silence, Limbo uses things like the harsh reality of death and pensive misery to convey its horror. It’s a game that has more in common with someone’s fear of spiders than it does their fear of an unknown and violent, monstrous enemy; it uses real life objects we take for granted like electricity and elevators to send chills more disturbing than the sight of a beheaded alien down our spines, and it uses the monotonous sounds of baby birds chirping and water dripping to give life to an otherwise dead and gloomy environment. It’s more harrowing than it is horrific; more morbid than malevolent; and more gothic than gruesome, but it’s still just as peculiar and alarming as the best of them, and it achieves its terror through a use of silence that is more black than golden.

But really, that’s little surprise. Death should be the scariest prospect of them all and by reveling in it, Limbo, Doom II and other games like them communicate a sense of fear as effective -- if not more so -- than the omnipresent and overwhelming atmosphere that most horror games provide these days. Loud and proud or silent and sinister -- both have their place and both have amazing power when it comes to making a player hesitate. It’s just a shame the two see such a vast difference in popularity.