Godheval

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As the Prince maneuvers his way through the palace, it is being ransacked on all sides by his father’s army, ballistas firing and causing heavy damage to the infrastructure. This of course conveniently creates chasms for him to have to leap across, and makes it so that the path to the treasure is everything but direct. He will have to scale pillars, shimmy along narrow ledges using only his hands, and even reach the tops of deep pits by jumping and kicking off of walls. Eventually he finds his way to the treasure vault and acquires the Dagger of Time, which he presents to his father as proof of his skill and valor. The vizier makes his interest in the dagger known immediately, but Sharaban allows the Prince to keep it instead, much to the old man’s frustration. As he makes a claim for the hourglass – also recently acquired by the Persian army – Sharaban states that it will be a present for a sultan in another kingdom. Twice thwarted, the vizier bides his time…

The Persian army collects all the treasure it can hold, including animals and women, then moves on towards the Kingdom of Azad. There Sharaban presents his friend the sultan with the Hourglass of Time, as a symbol of everlasting peace between their lands. The sultan is curious about the glowing sand inside the hourglass, at which time the Indian vizier tells him that it holds a “mysterious power”, which can only be unlocked by the very dagger the Prince holds. Indulging the onlookers, the Prince inserts the dagger into a slot on the hourglass, just as one of the enslaved Indian women yells out for him to stop. His action unleashes a cataclysm, the sands of time “infecting” those they touch, changing nearly everyone, King Sharaban included, into freakish “sand monsters”. Three people remain unchanged by the sands’ powers – the Prince, the Vizier, and the screaming Indian woman, who as it turns out is the daughter of the Maharajah. The Prince’s dagger, the Princess’s pearl, and the Vizier’s staff are what keep them safe as the rest of the Kingdom of Azad is reduced to silence and desolation, that is, except for the legions of sand creatures.

Thus is the stage set for Prince of Persia: Sands of Time. Players must combine their own resourcefulness with the Prince’s athleticism and skill in combat to make their way through the Kingdom of Azad, and eventually confront the Vizier for his treachery. Along the way, the Prince meets up with Farah, the Maharajah’s daughter, and the two must work together to stave off the attacks of the sand creatures, and create their own path through the ruined palace. The journey will be laden with difficulty as the Prince must jump from one platform to another, scale ladders and pillars, swing from poles and ropes, dodge rotating blades and moving columns of spikes. At times he will even defy the laws of physics by literally running along walls, and repel from them to reach an opposing location.

Once the player has gotten used to the basic mechanics of the game, it becomes a matter of figuring out which combination of actions will allow them to advance. There may be a locked gate on the ground floor of a vast multi-level room, and the switch to open it is high on some balcony. Of course there will be no staircase or gondola to take you there, and so the Prince will have to make use of his skills and the environment to reach it. There are various puzzles as well, of the traditional block pushing and plate-stepping variety, but all of which seem logical within the context of the game.

Last but certainly not least, there is the Dagger of Time, which enables the Prince to control the flow of time in various ways. Should he fail to make the jump from one platform to another and fall toward his death, he can use the power of reversal with the press of a button (there’s actually a button on the dagger itself) and try again. The power of delay slows down time for everyone and everything but himself, allowing him to speed through a gauntlet of traps or gain an advantage over his enemies. The power of restraint freezes the enemy in mid-movement, allowing the Prince to dispatch them with two strokes of his sword. Haste enables him to attack multiple enemies in rapid succession, making quick work of them before they can even raise their weapons. Lastly, there’s the power of retrieval, which is vital to defeating the sand creatures. Slashing and kicking them repeatedly will only disable them momentarily, and the only way to destroy them permanently is for the Prince to use the dagger to extract the sands of time from their bodies. Retrieval replenishes the dagger’s supply of sand, which is required for the Prince to execute all of the other abilities.

The entire adventure takes place in the various parts of the palace of Azad, from the reception room to great halls, from the Sultan’s personal zoo to the depths of the dungeon. The environments are spacious and meticulously designed, and so diverse that it seems hard to believe they’re all part of the same castle. There is considerable attention to detail, from reflections in water to the cracks in aging concrete structures. The character models are designed economically, using lower poly counts than some of the other graphical powerhouse games out there, but probably as a compromise for the vast environments. Still they are more than adequate within the gestalt of the game’s visuals, and are not likely to draw many complaints.

In terms of audio, Prince of Persia captures the ambience of the dead castle, most of the game played merely to the sounds of the environment. The soundtrack kicks in mostly during battle, featuring a rock-style guitar melodies with an Arabian flair. The sound effects reflect the same quality as the rest of the game’s presentation, with all the necessary clangs and howls of combat. Finally, there’s a good amount of spoken dialogue, as either the Prince continues to narrate in retrospect, or as he talks to himself or Farah during their real time interactions. The conversations between Prince and Princess are believable, often humorous, and sometimes contain an underlying sexual tension – insinuating the potential for romance.

In conclusion, Prince of Persia: Sands of Time is a quick adventure; With its simple control scheme, intuitive and fast-paced battles, there is little to stop most players completing it in around ten hours. With gameplay reminiscent of Sony’s ICO, only with a more in-depth combat system, it should fit well into the collections of platform and action-adventure gamers alike.

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This brings us to video games. Although they comprise a 13 billion dollar per year industry, video games continue to be pigeon-holed by the technologically withdrawn as mere children’s’ toys. You’ll even see this distorted representation in advertisements intended to sell games. There was a Wal-Mart commercial not too long ago which showed a teenage boy “playing” a contemporary game. He was moving the controller back and forth with the most idiotic expression on his face, as if he were having a seizure. In the background you could hear the archaic “beeps” and “boops” that haven’t been associated with games since they first utilized sound. This image, of kids engaging in something conceivably mindless and mesmerizing, is what keeps many people’s perception of video games from catching up to what they’ve actually become. If people would open their eyes for just a moment, they would discover that no one’s playing Centipede and Asteroids anymore. Oh, but there are times when their eyes are open – open as wide as their mouths with shock and dismay.

OH MY GOD. That fellow there, in that…electronic game…he killed someone. GASP! That woman there, why she’s wearing nothing but leather straps, and her breasts are impossibly large. FAINT! What are these companies thinking, exposing our children to such gratuitous depictions of SEX and VIOLENCE?! Hey hey, how about you settle down, Mr. and Mrs. Puritan, Jr.? What you and so many people have failed to realize is that video games, by and large, are NOT being designed for children. Recent statistics have shown that the age of the average gamer is somewhere in the mid to late twenties. Video games have grown up with the children who have been playing them since the beginning. Just like any other form of media, every game is different, and has a target demographic.

Games like the “infamous” Grand Theft Auto, which have adult language, allow you to kill people in cold blood, and have implied sex with prostitutes, clearly are not intended for children. Such distinctions between material for children and adults is made pretty clear in movies. A mere letter is all it takes to create a barrier between the precious children’s impressionable minds and all that god awful sex and violence. The big “R” for restricted is all it takes, right? Because surely there are never any cases of employee negligence which allow clever kids to sneak into these movies anyway, right? Oh, and what about that VHS tape or DVD lying around when the kid gets home from school? There are no employees or MPAA secret police around to stop them from playing that R-rated movie in their own home. By now you’ve probably already identified what it is that should determine whether or not a child is exposed to material that may not be appropriate, but hold that thought.

Let’s go back to books. Bookstores categorize their material by subject, and generally, adult material is hidden from plain sight. Naughty magazines are placed on the highest shelves so no children can reach them – with the exception of those rare giants who are a whole five feet tall or more. But what about violent books? Violence occurs in all genres, from romance to drama to non-fiction, being that – you know, violence is a part of real life. What is going to stop that 12 year old kid from picking up a book about Vietnam, with its graphic accounts of warfare, or that Idiot’s Guide to Sex? Like movies, and unlike books, video games too have a system in place intended to stratify them with regards to the maturity of their content.

The Entertainment Software Rating Board (ESRB), is a body much like the MPAA, that plays through games to determine which of five ratings they will receive. They range from Early Childhood (eC) to Adults Only (AO), although most games fall in the three middle categories, E for Everyone, T for Teen, or M for Mature. Like ushers, who we trust not to allow little Susie or Johnnie into Texas Chainsaw Massacre, video game retailers follow a policy of not allowing children to purchase games with material that is too mature for them. However, there are always going to be cases of negligence or plain indifference, or situations where little Susie has her friend’s older sister buy the game for her. Well, guess what? Kids can get cigarettes the same way. At least video games don’t blacken their lungs, create physiological dependency and chemical imbalance, or increase their risk of developing cancer. That is, of course, assuming that children aren’t setting the games on fire, then eating them or inhaling the fumes.

If we really want to protect the children, those poor blessed souls, then we’d better start putting heavy restrictions on everything. We’d better make matches illegal, because these days, a kid will smoke anything that’ll catch fire. We’d better force them to wear soundproof ear muffs to prevent them from hearing those naughty swear words. Also, before it’s too late, someone had better invent special glasses which can be tweaked to determine which things in the real world that kids can and cannot see. Actually, instead of all of that, we should pour money into wet ware research and invent a V-chip that can be soldered directly to their brains and filter out all potentially damaging phenomena. On the day they turn 18, it’ll melt and leak out of their ears, thus allowing them to be exposed to the world as it really is. You see, because it is an arbitrary number like 18, or a person’s biology which determines when they’re “mature” enough to “handle” certain material.

But hold on a minute. Isn’t there a better, more practical solution? This may sound far fetched, but what if the parents took responsibility instead, deciding what they can be exposed to and when, and ultimately raising them to become fully functional adults? Holy crap! I might just be on to something. It is not the usher, or the video game retailer, or the bookstore clerk who is supposed to shield children from potentially “damaging” material. It is not the job of every person on earth to “watch their mouths” or “be on their best behavior” when a child happens to be around. It is the parent’s job to filter a child’s experiences through education and guidance so that they can properly handle (and propriety varies by individual standards) the inundation of messages moving throughout the world. If that seems like common sense, that would be because it is.

To return from that tangent, the question should be raised of why video games are often singled out for criticism and moralistic scrutiny. Before we get to that, however, let’s do another trait by trait comparison. What advantage does a book have over a video game? None. Some games, such as those in the role-playing category, boast stories that dwarf most books in scope. One game in particular, Deus Ex, had a script over one thousand pages long. There are no limitations on the amount of detail that can be put into a video game. On the other hand, video games wield the same advantages over books as do movies and television shows – the use visuals and sound. What advantages do movies have over video games? None.

Today, video game budgets are often as large as those of blockbuster Hollywood films, and utilize much of the same kind of technology in bringing forth their vision. Cinematic directors are even sometimes called in to assist in the creation of video games, setting up dynamic camera angles for in-game activity and dramatic presentation for story-driven cut scenes. Video games, unlike movies, do not have time constraints. It is a simple task to save your progress in any game, walk away to attend to other matters, then come back to continue later. Some video games are designed to immerse the player in their settings and stories for 30-40 hours. Could you watch a 40-hour movie? Probably not. Television shows do not even need to be mentioned, because by now the video games’ advantages should be clear. Here’s a question. Why is it simple enough for a person to engage in 40 hours of gameplay, while it would be a chore to watch a 40 hour movie? That brings us back to the crux of my argument – that one little thing that separates video games from all other forms of media, and why in fact, video games are the ultimate form of media.

That one thing is interactivity. You can rip a page out of a book in frustration as a story takes an unfavorable turn, or you can yell your lungs out at movie screen as the stupid teenage girl wanders down the dark hallway alone towards the lurking killer, but chances are that you’re not going to change anything. In a video game, however, a person is given a measure of control over the characters and environment presented. In many games, they even take on the roles of those characters and completely determine the outcome. Even without my earlier comparisons, interactivity alone is powerful enough to catapult video games to a place of superiority. I mentioned how people often want to relate to the characters and situations presented in books, movies, or television shows. A person cannot get any closer to a character than to actually wear their shoes, to take on that character’s decisions as their own, to shape the environment with their own choices. That’s an important word there – choice. People are obsessed with being able to control their environment, at least to a certain extent. Video games provide people with all the depth, attention to detail, music, sound effects, and visual presentation as all other forms of media combined, and give them that oh-so-precious ability to choose. What kind of car do you want to drive? What kind of clothes do you want to wear? What kind of weapon do you want to kill people with? What kind of person do you want to be? For each of these questions, there is a video game out there that allows a player to make a choice.

As I mentioned earlier, it is this element which causes skeptics to give video games more attention when considering the influence of media on people’s actions – particularly those of children. A child can watch a man on the television shoot another in the head. Will that child be inspired to follow suit? Probably not. Chances are, if they are old enough to even understand what they are seeing, they will be horrified by it. That man will become a subject of the child’s own criticism, or at least questions as to why he chose to kill someone else. A video game on the other hand – using Grand Theft Auto again as an example – leaves that man’s choice in the player’s hands. In that game, you are literally set free in a fully realized city, able to do almost anything your heart desires. If you can find a gun, you can – like that man in the movie – walk over to a stranger and blow his brains out. However, you can also choose not to do that, and as in the real world, there are consequences in the game for committing random acts of violence. The police will pursue you, and if you exhibit even more extreme behavior, you may even incur the wrath of the military. They have guns too, and will not hesitate to shoot you to death. Now imagine you are a child, playing this game. If for some reason you regarded it as a model by which to shape your real life actions, then you would quickly come to realize that killing that random strangers will get you killed. There’s an incentive to be violent if ever there was one.

But wait a moment. Being killed in a video game is only a momentary set back. The game can be restarted, or you can often just “continue” after dying, more or less negating the impact of those consequences. Perhaps a child will think that if he takes daddy’s gun and kills someone, it doesn’t matter if the police come and shoot him too, because he can press a button and come back to life! Yeah? Well in this impossible scenario, the child is a complete moron. Someone could also ask the question of why, when given the option of doing anything in a game world, did that child choose to get a gun and kill someone? If a child was raised to believe that killing other people is wrong – or if they understand that innately, then would they not be mortified at the sight of gratuitous violence in a video game the same as they would in a movie? Keep in mind, though, that all of this is assuming that this child even has access to this game, which was designed for, marketed to, and clearly labeled for adults. If a child is influenced by a game like Grand Theft Auto, then it is not the game’s fault. It is the parent’s fault. Just as parents forbid kids from going into R-rated movies or browsing through a Penthouse magazine, they should exercise the same conscientiousness in monitoring what kinds of games are being played.

To even argue that violent or sexually suggestive video games are a bad influence on anyone is to blow things not only out of proportion, but out of context. Video games, just like books, television shows, and movies, are a form of escapism. We read them, watch them, and play them in order to experience things that we probably will not or simply cannot in real life. They are all forms of entertainment, not examples by which we will shape our lives or that will dictate our behavior. The only exception to this may be how people use television as insight into what’s “socially acceptable”, which may in turn determine their actions. If that’s a problem, then let’s get a lobby going to ban MTV. In the meantime, we can be having fun playing video games. But really, all of this hubbub only serves to prove my point – that video games should be regarded with the same respect as every other form of media, or if you buy my argument so far, a higher level of respect. That U.S. senators like Joe Lieberman have made it worth their time to speak out against games, it shows that they are an undeniable part of our culture, one that can no longer be marginalized as some mere “toy”.

Production values for video games are often extremely high, and to those who don’t know the intricacies of game design, it will probably blow your mind to know what kind of work goes into their creation. Game development teams have much of the same staff as do movies. There are artists, actors, writers, directors, sound engineers, music composers, 3D modelers, and graphic designers. There are also computer programmers, who make up the very heart of the team, and bring all the different elements together. Movie production teams have the advantage of rendering their vision in the real world. Game design teams must create the very world in which their visions will be expressed, which is all a matter of programming. These days, games are so meticulous in their attention to detail that they even include dynamic lighting and shading, anatomically accurate character movements, and even real world physics. G.I. Joe and Barbie are toys. Video games are interactive works of art that find reason for professionals of many fields, from music to science, to get together for the expression of a creative vision. To regard them as anything less is to remain uninformed, ignorant, and to do all these talented people the greatest disservice.

Game designers must not only concern themselves with all of the same aspects of presentation as films, but anticipate the players’ response to The Individualy interactive aspects of the game, as it will be the primary factor in determining rabid success or miserable failure. A movie can often stand on the merit of its visual presentation alone, but the same is not true of video games. A game may be aesthetically palatable (and they often are, given that budgets are well into the millions of dollars and they use technology similar to that used for movie special effects), but if a game is disastrous in terms of functionality, it will become the subject of heavy criticism. This is where the game designers’ roles are crucial. They must ensure that once the details of the design document are fleshed out, the final product is fully functional, well balanced in terms of difficulty versus playability, and above all, a fun experience.

Although it has taken decades, video games are finally being recognized by the mainstream as viable forms of media. You will now see video games being sold at movie stores, music stores, even book stores. You will see video game reviews in newspapers or entertainment magazines. You will see trailers for games shown during the previews at movies. You can even find nearly photorealistic renders of video game characters in Playboy magazine. The message here is clear. Video games are no longer just for kids, and they are proliferating throughout our culture, with no intention of going anywhere ever.

If you’re a person who responds well to economic data or statistics, then I’ll be glad to throw a few numbers in your direction. “Final Fantasy X-2″, a video game created by Square-Enix, sold 1.2 million copies in its first three days in Japan alone. At $50 a pop, that amounts to $60 million in sales. Not impressed? Dragon Warrior VIII, another Square-Enix game, sold 3 million copies on its first day. That’s $150 million. Need more? Halo 2, produced by Bungie and Microsoft, released only three weeks ago, has already sold 5 million copies. That amounts to more than $250 million. Those three games together comprise a total of nearly a billion dollars spent in a time span of less than a month. If you’re not impressed by now, then you’re just being obstinate.

If you’re a person who has made a blanket statement such as “I don’t like video games”, then you probably have some distorted and wholly inaccurate preconceptions about them. You also obviously haven’t played the right games. Truly, there are games out there for everyone, since there is hardly a facet of life, real or imaginary, that they have not touched upon. I look forward to a time when video games are recognized as unanimously as movies, and when game designers are critically praised for their brilliance or scorned for their incompetence in the same light as film directors, writers, and authors of all other kinds of media.

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Watching pornography stimulates that abstract feeling. Provided that the material is not something that forces a person to remain in or return to “full consciousness”, e.g. by depicting something that challenges one’s values or generally catalyzes rational thought, there is huge range of things (varying by individual) that could spark that response. So what difference does it really make if the depiction of sexual activity is computer generated or real? A few years ago, the difference would’ve been that the technology did not allow for a realistic enough images to activate a sexual trigger. Now, however, when computer generated characters are photorealistic, such that in some cases only a close examination can identify it as being fake, they are just as valid for entertainment purposes as real people. This includes sexual stimulation.

When someone watches a pornographic film, are they really replacing the actors with themselves in their imagination? I don’t think so. For one thing, rational thought is probably at its lowest, and it would probably take a strong amount of concentration to displace the images right in front of you with an imaginary scenario. Perhaps if a person closed their eyes, it’d be easier to pull off, but then, what’s the point of having the film playing anymore? My point in this is that if I were to watch a fully realized CG porno, it does not mean that I am imagining myself having sex with a computer graphic, and thus a loser because I should imagine myself having sex with a REAL woman instead. What’s the difference? If it’s all in my imagination anyway, does the impetus for sexual stimulation even matter? It’s all abstract, and occurs on a level far beneath normal consciousness.

So, for anyone to argue that “CG Porn” (something which as far as I know doesn’t even exist yet) or cartoon porn, or whatever other kind of “fake” sexual material you want to mention, is any less “valid” than its real-life counterparts is just plain absurd. The most that can be said by any one person is that the material doesn’t trigger that response for them, but that does not change the validity of the material in general.

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So, albeit subconsciously, when I first played Final Fantasy X, I was comparing it to previous games I enjoyed, like VI, VII, and IX. If it didn’t “fulfill the quota” for the kind of impact those games had on me, then it was automatically in the hole. Final Fantasy X’s story, while adequate, did not “move” me as did some of its predecessors, and thus were its other more notable features overshadowed. I became overly critical of the game, not taking the time to recognize it for its considerable merit. Interestingly enough, when I replayed the game, judging it independently of my usual strict criteria, I enjoyed it quite a bit. This brings up another issue – precedence – which will serve as the foundation of this new review system.

For every player, a game’s features are prioritized differently. Take RPGs for instance. Most tried and true fans of the genre will tell you that story is by far the most important element of any RPG. If the story doesn’t meet their standards, then they’ll probably dismiss the game as below average. At the same time, they’re bitingly critical of people who place graphics above story, because that is not what RPGs are about, after all. That, however, is the problem. A game’s features are not prioritized at all times with respect to its genre or in any particular way in general. Every game is different, as is the aim of each developer in creating them.

To elaborate upon this point, I will introduce two extreme cases: Monolith Soft’s Xenosaga, and Level 5’s Dark Cloud 2. Anyone who has played Xenosaga can clearly see that the focus of the game was meant to be its story and presentation (which includes graphics and music). In that Xenosaga was composed of nearly equal parts cinema and interactive portions, an oddity in gaming for certain, it was clear that the developers expected the story and presentation to carry the game. If a player understands and accepts this going in, they are less likely to be disappointed by the game’s somewhat rudimentary play mechanics.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, so to speak, we have Dark Cloud 2 – an RPG by anyone’s definition – yet one that is rather sparse in terms of storyline. As per the standards of the genre, this should break the game. However, Dark Cloud 2 has such deep and diverse gameplay, i.e. so many different things to experience, that the story actually takes a back seat – to the point of being almost irrelevant. The battle system, the item customization, the mini-games, the graphics, the voice acting – all of these were arguably top notch, yet it’s doubtable that anyone would revere the storyline as anything groundbreaking. It was sufficient, however, and at the same time unassuming, that is, it was clear throughout the game that Level 5 was not setting out to build the next great work of interactive literature.

So here we have two games, both of the same genre, but so completely different in terms of their “focus” that they can’t even be compared to one another. Xenosaga clearly has the better story of the two, while Dark Cloud 2 has the better gameplay. So, which one is better overall? That judgment simply cannot be made. The current review systems used by magazines and online publications, however, would have you think differently. All games are rated on the same scales, thus implicitly saying that the game with the higher score is better. In an age when games are diversifying greatly, even within their own respective genres, these systems are obsolete. As mentioned, different developers have different aims as they put together their games, different ways they intend for their product to impact the players. Therefore, games should be judged on how well they accomplish what the developer intended, not how well they live up to a set of generic standards.

This calls for a new system, one that abolishes scores altogether, but rather breaks down games with respect to their focus. A pie graph could be used to represent which aspects of the game take precedence. As an example, let’s take Dark Cloud 2, and divide its graph amongst four categories: Gameplay/Presentation/Sound/Story (Keep in mind that an actual chart would take more attributes into consideration). DC2 would probably be represented as: 50/25/15/10. This breakdown would not imply that the game was lacking in any of these categories, but simply that it seemed that the developer intended to have the greatest impact on the player via gameplay. After seeing this graph, some hypothetical player who prioritizes graphics above everything may check out some screenshots or movies of the game. Let’s say the graphics impress him. As he decides to play the game, simply because of its aesthetic appeal, he may also be glad to know in advance that there is even more to look forward to in terms of gameplay.

As this system was being devised, there was one immediate and obvious problem. How can a reviewer determine which of the game’s features is to be given precedence, or know what the developer intended? If story is more important to that reviewer, and a given game’s plot doesn’t appeal to him or her, then they may allocate only a small sliver of the pie graph. In turn, this may deter a player who also places story above all else, but also appreciates killer gameplay – which this game just may have. This again makes the review subjective, influenced by the writer’s own personal bias. So how can the pie graph be created in the most objective manner possible? The figures would come from the developers themselves.

If asked to rate their game, of course their slant would be in its favor, and would not be an unbiased assessment. However, asking the developer to prioritize the games features, they are more likely to paint an accurate picture. As much as they may want to say that everything about their game is great – and it may be – some features were designed to take the forefront in terms of impacting the player as they intended. What in particular do they want gamers to notice? Those features will receive a greater representation on the pie graph.

Someone may wonder, then what is the role of the reviewer? It is their job to paint a picture of the game as objectively as possible, simply listing the game’s features as someone may list specs for a computer. Just as a person may opt for a smaller hard drive but more RAM between two computers with the same price, a gamer may choose to purchase a game that focuses on gameplay over presentation or vice versa. Of course, the writer would have to present the facts with their own personal style such that that their review stands out amongst the pack, and more importantly, doesn’t bore the reader to death.

In this new review system, the player would read about the game’s features, then corroborate the pie graph with what they personally value most in a game, and decide if it appeals to them. In the end, a reviewer’s scores are meaningless. A player may very well enjoy a game that the writer did not. No review, regardless of how well-written it is, or how well-informed the writer may be, can decide for another gamer whether or not a game is worth playing. So, actually, there is no point of listing scores in the first place, or muddling an informative account of a game (the real purpose of a review) with personal bias.

Just as there are many factors that influence a reviewer’s opinion, there are just as many factors in the game design process which are not taken into account. For example, consider a fledgling company, trying to get its feet wet in what is becoming an increasingly unforgiving industry. This company may not have the resources to compete with the big name corporations. They may not be able to put countless computers to work rendering hours of pre-rendered cinemas or have the money to hire a symphony orchestra to produce the soundtrack. What they lack in resources, however, they may try to make up for it in effort – by showing their love for their project as best they can. That may sound rather saccharine, but when a developer puts time and care into a game, and not just money, it shows.

Let’s say our hypothetical company releases a 2D RPG. How do its 2D sprites stand up against the thousands of polygons in a 3D graphical powerhouse? They don’t stack up, and in fact should not even be compared. The graphical styles are simply different. Perhaps that 3D game prides itself on its amazing graphics, its killer frame rate, and a bunch of other mumbo jumbo like reflection maps and bump mapping. Underneath that proud façade however, may be a game with little substance, i.e. rather dull gameplay mechanics or an uninspired plot. Meanwhile the 2D game proves to be a labor of love, the programmers putting in the extra hours to create a wide range of features, including a slick user-friendly interface, and an innovative battle system.

Clearly, the fledgling company realized that by and large 2D graphics are considered obsolete, and hoped to sell their product on the virtue of its other features. On the other side, perhaps the makers of the 3D game wanted to create an aesthetic tour de force, wrapping gamers up in the spectacle of its presentation, placing actual gameplay on the back burner? Should graphics or gameplay make or break a game? That depends on each individual player. How many reviewers convey or even acknowledge how they weigh reviews, with regards to those features that take precedence for them personally? With RPGs in particular, a reviewer would bring untold scorn upon himself were he to flat out admit that he doesn’t care about story, and that he gave Game X a high score because its visuals completely blew his mind.

Again, a game should be judged on how well it accomplishes what it set out to do. If graphics are its claim to fame, so be it. If a company decided to allocate its resources to the development of a complex battle engine at the expense of visuals, so be it. It should be the reviewers’ job simply to lay out what the game has to offer, without applying bias or their own personal weighing system. It is then up to each player to decide for themselves how the game impacts them, if at all. With this new system, they can go into a new game free of the influence of another person’s opinion.

The Game Balance Designation System (GBDS)

The first challenge of the new review system was creating a set of universal categories. For RPGs, one automatically considers “Story” as a category, but that may not apply to other genres, like sports or racing. “Control” is a category that’s quite important to most genres, but is almost insignificant in some RPGs, Puzzle Games, Dance Games, and others. Some features of a game may cross categories. “Presentation” for example could account for audio and visual characteristics, but surely those two must be considered separately. In the end, the following categories best covered everything:

• Creativity – covers the originality of the concept behind the game; also how innovative it is in various terms, e.g. graphical style or play mechanics. For example, quirky games like Rez, Stretch Panic, and Silhouette Mirage all had a strong creative focus – say what you will about their other features. On the other hand, sports games don’t have to be creative, and rely more on content, depth, or execution.
• Content – how much the game has to offer, e.g. the number of gameplay modes, secondary mini-games, side quests (for RPGs), amongst other things. In a fighting game this may include the number of playable characters, the number of moves each one has, the different modes. In other words, content determines how many different things there are for the player to do, so as not to be bored by redundancy.
• Depth – how involved all the various aspects are; this could include how customizable characters are in an MMORPG or cars in racing games, the complexity of a fighting game engine, how well a story premise or characters are fleshed out. A game may pride itself simply on having an abundance of features or modes (content), none of which are particularly deep, however. An example of this would be Mario Party.
• Audio – covers all of the game’s sound attributes – music, effects, voice acting, and overall ambience.
• Visuals – the game’s graphics and, if applicable, cinematic presentation – how well the setting and tone are conveyed through visuals alone; includes such things as high polygon counts, real-time rendered cut scenes, animation, lighting and shading – anything the game uses to appeal to the player aesthetically.
• Execution – Execution covers how well the game lived up to its own potential, i.e. how well it capitalized on a strong premise. It covers mechanics, the intuitiveness of the game’s controls and how responsive they are. It also includes user-friendliness of the interface, i.e. how easy menus are to navigate, load times, and whether or not there are glitches. A game will not pride itself exclusively on how well it handles if the rest of the features are terrible, but at the same time, bad mechanics may ruin a game that excels in every other area. In short, execution accounts for how all of the different elements come together to form a comprehensive unit. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Some games may not excel in any one particular area, and when analyzed for each of its attributes separately, one may wonder why such an apparently mediocre game has such a great impact. This may have been the developer’s intention, and it is in fact a testament to great design when a game whose individual aspects aren’t noteworthy can still make for a captivating experience.

Once again, reviews will not judge games in each of these categories, but simply elaborate on what the game has to offer with respect to them. The game balance designation chart will tell the reader which of these aspects the developer intended to use as the crux of its overall presentation.

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