Review - Bioshock Infinite

Talk about a game you can't put down.

Irrational Games returns to the Bioshock universe with Bioshock Infinite, a game which takes place in an alternate-history 1912. You control Booker Dewitt, an ex-Pinkerton agent with a shady past, tasked with recovering a teenaged girl named Elizabeth from a big, tall, tower. Perhaps the greatest strength that the game has over virtually all others on the market is, (as we've come to expect from Irrational), that it leaves convention at the door.

For starters, despite my simplistic plot summary, Elizabeth is anything but your traditional damsel in distress. If anything, she's the opposite: her interaction in combat is vital, and adds much-needed dimension to the game's firefights. What's really notable is how well fleshed-out her character is. Her absence in a few short moments of the game is unmistakably felt, and her impact on the game's story is, well, spoiler spoiler spoiler. Her sense of importance is unmistakable, even when it hasn't fully been explained, and her presence bolstered my curiosity and led me to search for more answers throughout the game.

Just who is Elizabeth, and why does she seem so important?

Booker himself is an interesting character, not least because of the events of the game which cause the player to view him in a totally new light. Going into the experience, I'd heard quite a bit about Elizabeth, which caused me to worry that the reasonably generic-looking Booker might just be a standard video game hero. Thankfully, this was not the case, and the reality led to a far more interesting and multi-layered protagonist, especially as the story progressed and I learned more about him. In addition to this, the chemistry between the two heroes is terrific, and having Elizabeth along serves the narrative terrifically - it felt a lot more intimate, and worked much better for this story than simply conversing over a radio in the original.

A key similarity between Infinite and the original Bioshock is its location: both games focusing on a city left to its own devices. Of course, this is also where a lot of the difference stems from: while the original's city, Rapture, was a decrepit cesspit, morally and physically rotting apart, Columbia seems, at first glance, to be a gorgeous utopia. Talk about game-feel: the city in the sky is easily the most colourful and beautiful location I've ever seen in a first-person shooter. But beneath the surface lies a seedy underbelly: propaganda litters the streets, there's a cultish undertone to the city's unanimous love for Zachary Comstock (aka The Prophet), and, of course, as we learn more about The Prophet's views, we learn that the apparent Main Street USA charm of Columbia is skin-deep. As such, exploring the city is a treat, and the overall impression is a location that's every bit as creepy and fascinating as Rapture.

Gorgeous, colourful visuals with incredible detail - the game looks
unlike any other first-person shooter.

If there is one aspect in which Infinite is not outstanding, it's the gameplay. While its action-heavy FPS sections are exciting, they're certainly not what kept me up all night playing. Many games have used similar combat systems to greater effect, and Infinite's limited weapons and 'vigors' (magical abilities, for lack of a better phrase) meant that I quickly established a favourite combination, which I could use on just about any enemy that crossed my path without too much difficulty. Once I found a system that worked, it was largely rinse and repeat, and in fact, I left many of the vigors virtually untouched at the end of the game, never really finding a good reason to use them.

As an interesting side-note, though: isn't it funny that some of the best games of the last few years (Journey, The Walking Dead, Heavy Rain, hell, even Mass Effect) have totally underplayed an emphasis on gameplay, in favour of story and character? It's definitely a mould that BioShock Infinite sits comfortably within. The gameplay isn't bad, it's just not great. Thankfully, I saw it as a means to an end - the firefights were exciting because I wanted to see what would happen after they ended, and I could put up with the repetition because I knew it wasn't long before I'd be uncovering another recording, unlocking a new vigor or weapon, or running into another twist in the plot.

Infinite's gameplay is enjoyable, but not revolutionary.

It's hard to explain just why the story's so fascinating without spoiling the whole thing completely, but I'll put it this way - the emotional reaction that I got from Journey (a game I called my Game Of The Year), is equal to the amount of intellectual stimulation my brain got playing through Infinite. In a medium so swamped with games that hand you all the answers on a plate (or don't bother asking any questions to begin with), it's immensely refreshing to play a game like this, that provides so much to mull over. Along with the plot, the context and commentary it provides are well-honed, too - it'd be wrong to do it any other way, but Infinite's dystopian 1912 is not without the real early-20th-century struggles of sexism, racism, and nationalism. So many moments will have you thinking long and hard about your own morality, and it's a game that has as much to say about America as it does about Booker and Elizabeth.

The story is told brilliantly, too - as mentioned, nothing is given to you too easily, but the way you learn things by observing the world around you means you'll put together the pieces for yourself. This bolsters the sense of connection to the world, and to the game itself, because you feel involved. It's truly interactive storytelling at its best.

A multi-layered story that twists, turns, and makes you think -
without losing sight of itself in the process.

At its core, BioShock Infinite succeeds in being an absolutely ripping science-fiction story, one whose minutiae and symbolic meaning I can't wait to pick apart with a fine-toothed comb in conversations with friends in the days and weeks to come. With the combination of its layered and interesting characters, world, and plot, it's up there with the best stories that have ever been told in the medium. Backed up by incredible graphics and design, as well as jaw-dropping sound and music, it's an incredible vision that aims high and is almost perfectly realised.

XRN / @xavierrn

Video Game Urban Legends: Pokémon

by Xavier Rubetzki Noonan

As a dominant part of the modern cultural landscape, it’s not surprising that video gaming has attracted a wealth of folklore. From ‘arrow in the knee’ memes to cartridge-blowing nostalgia, one of gaming’s greatest attributes is its ability to unite people through their shared sense of history and experience. And as with all cultures and subcultures, part of the rich tapestry of folklore that video games attract is the urban legend. These legends are pieced together using the things gamers have in common: usually they’re associated with a well-known game, or with a particular gaming experience that people can relate to. From old wives’ tales to spooky stories, the myths and legends that surround video gaming are often extremely interesting. In this series, I will present some of the stories I’ve collected in my time as a gamer. I’m not here to debunk, or cast any new judgment on these stories. Any attempt to do so would merely demystify them. I merely aim to present them for what they are.


This week, I want to write about Pokémon. The Pokémon series is an ideal target for urban legends for two main reasons: one; its massive and overwhelming popularity, and two; its controversial history. Of course, you don’t need me to tell you how hugely popular Pokémon is. From anime to trading cards to an overwhelming amount of merchandise, the Pokémon media empire reflects the games’ international spread. A good urban legend starts with the familiar, in order to establish credibility and plausibility, so it’s natural that the series would spawn some of its own.

What’s more, these myths tie in with a general suspicion with which many view the Pokémon brand. The anime is associated with an incident dubbed “Pokémon Shock”, where over six hundred Japanese viewers were hospitalised with seizures after viewing the episode “Dennō Senshi Porygon” (which featured intense, flashing strobe lights). On top of this, there are many known glitches and errors in the original Pokémon games: the Mew glitch and MissingNo. being prime examples. These examples illustrate the general sense of superstition which is intrinsically tied to the Pokémon brand. Add this to the many criticisms Pokémon has faced over the years (including its promotion of the occult, indoctrination of evolution and deterioration of family relationships)*, and you have the perfect cocktail for an excellent spooky story.
There are two examples of Pokémon urban legends which I’d like to outline: ‘Lavender Town Syndrome’ and the ‘Pokemon Black’ story.

LAVENDER TOWN SYDNROME

The story of Lavender Town Syndrome goes like this: supposedly, the music that plays in the Lavender Town area of the original Japanese Pokémon games caused depressive or suicidal thoughts in children. The games had to be changed for their international release because ‘Lavender Town Syndrome’ was supposedly the cause of over 100 suicides in children aged ten to fifteen in the days following the games’ release. It’s easy to see where the myth sprang from: Lavender Town is the home of Pokémon Tower, a seven-floor graveyard housing hundreds of dead Pokémon, and the site of numerous ghost sightings. As well as this, the music in Lavender Town is simply creepy as hell. Even listening to it while I’m writing this gives me the chills.

Interestingly enough, though, the more fantastic elements of the story still have their roots in fact. For instance, there is evidence that the Lavender Town music was changed between the first and second versions of Pokémon Red and Green (the original, Japan-only Pokémon titles), in order to make the area less eerie and unsettling. However, there is no specific evidence to support the claim that the games were responsible for an outbreak of mass youth suicide. In an interesting epilogue, when Lavender Town was revisited in Pokémon SoulSilver and HeartGold, the music was changed completely, into a peaceful, soothing piece of chirpy Nintendo drivel.

POKEMON BLACK

Now, we turn our attention to something even more fun: the good ol’ fashioned ghost story. It is assumed that the Pokemon Black myth originated online: from a message board like 4chan, or something of the like. The story goes that the writer purchased a mysterious black Pokémon cartridge which was apparently haunted. The player starts off with a Pokémon named ‘GHOST’, which could not be attacked by wild Pokémon. It had just one move - Curse - which would instantly (and spookily) kill (not just defeat) an opponent’s Pokémon. After a Trainer battle, the move could be used again, in the overworld, and would cause the enemy Trainer’s sprite to disappear, to be replaced by a tombstone (like those in Lavender Town’s cemetery).

After playing through the entire game to its conclusion, the writer outlines the game’s new ending - all the Pokémon and Trainers he had Cursed flashed on screen, while the Lavender Town music played, gradually decreasing in pitch. And then, the finale - his character, now an old man, is forced to battle GHOST one-on-one. This battle is impossible to win, and GHOST Curses him, deleting the save file and forcing a total restart.

This story is a classic spooky story. All the hallmarks are there - the game was picked up cheap at a flea market, the cartridge was lost when the writer moved house, and of course, the myriad links to the spookier parts of the Pokémon games (the Lavender Town music, for example). I think what’s really interesting about this one is the plausibility of it. The story isn’t presented directly as a ghost story - by that I mean that it’s never explicitly stated that anything paranormal is going on. It relies on the reader’s imagination to read that into the story. But what’s really cool is the level of believable detail that the story contains. From references to other well-known Pokémon knockoffs and hacks, to explanations of the various sprites used (when the player is represented by an old man at the end of the game, the sprite is that of the man who teaches you to use a Poké Ball in Viridian City), it’s a detailed story that makes logical sense to Pokémon fans. Even the central ‘GHOST’ Pokémon appears in the original games: until the Silph Scope is obtained, Ghost-type Pokémon are displayed simply as undefeatable GHOSTs.

The accuracy or truthfulness of this story is limited by its own specificity - there’s no real way to prove or disprove that some resourceful person could have hacked a Game Boy cartridge and tinkered with a Pokémon game. Interestingly, the popularity of the myth has led to fans creating their own version of the game - a Pokémon FireRed hack called ‘Pokémon Creepy Black’, which aims to provide a playable version of the story. However, in my opinion, a lot of the impact is lost by using a more modern ROM - there’s just something about the older games which is so fundamentally rooted in my mind, that just doesn’t come through in the FireRed hack.

I think that simple truth speaks volumes for the power of myths like these. The classic video game urban legends work because they’re based on something we grew up with: whether it’s their associations with safety, or just their backdrop of common understanding, they work best when they tap into something basic and pure and understood. Maybe in twenty years, there’ll be new scary stories about Modern Warfare 3 or Wii Sports, but for now, I’m quite comfortable shitting my pants over Pokémon.

So this is the first instalment in what I assume will be a series of Video Game Urban Legends posts. I have a few more ideas for future posts, but I’d love you to let me know what you think! Was this too long? Too specific? Not specific enough? Too formal? Too informal? Were there too many questions in italics at the end of the post?

Wing me an email: ssjoystick@gmail.com
-Xavier


*Who am I kidding, these are all the same fucking crazy website...

Games As Art

As gamers, we are living in an exciting time. A recent study states that as of 2012, 92 percent of Australian households own at least one gaming device. The advent of smartphones has unleashed a flood of games intrinsically connected with social networks, and console gaming shows no signs of slowing with Call Of Duty continuing to fuel the energy drink and deodorant industry worldwide. But on the flip-side of this rampant mainstream success, a certain breed of independently developed games are gaining traction with a different, perhaps more discerning audience. These games have been labelled with the (highly unimaginative) moniker of ‘art’ games.

This not to say that all indie games are built around a deep and ponderous mechanic or idea. SSJ recently covered the Molydeux Gamejam, an event built around deconstructing these farcically high-minded concepts into simple (and hopefully fun) games. But as far as we can tell from the figures, games sold on the weight of their artistic merit are on the rise.

Aaron Staton recreating A Clockwork Orange during mocap for L.A. Noire.

So what defines an art game? In my opinion, Team Bondi’s L.A. Noire was a work of art. Its recreation of 1940’s Los Angeles was a beautiful (but static) backdrop to what was, in all honesty, a convoluted and cliched story filled with archetypal heroes, villains and femme fatales. However, the performances offered by the actors in those roles plumbed the depths of the uncanny valley, a merit made possible by the implementation of superior motion capture technology that more closely emulates natural human facial expression. Given the technological sophistication of this technique, you can hardly label it is as ‘simple’. But when I first encountered situations where this interaction with (and exploitation of) this feature became necessary to progress, I found myself operating intuitively with the system, recognising and accusing the pursed lips of a liar, or pressing the furrowed brows of a forgetful witness. So whilst the game itself was flawed, I feel it still stands as an artful creation (but not necessarily an ‘art’ game), solely by virtue of its central gameplay mechanic.

Microsoft Kinect: Now also compatible with Shady Jimmy’s acid tabs! (image - Robert Hodgins (2010), used without permission [don’t sue!])

On the other end of the spectrum, technology originally developed exclusively for games is being incorporated into art installations and exhibitions around the world. Right here in Sydney, the MCA turned their facade into a digital canvas using altered Kinect technology, allowed passers-by to create a virtual Jackson Pollock-style mess on the brutalist monolith of Circular Quay. This is obviously not a game - but it certainly could be considered art. I think it’s important for gamers to recognise the gap this is bridging between art and games, and how this might affect a non-gamer’s perception of videogames (hell, the Wii has done enough damage, let the wankers see if they can patch that tear in our credibility).

Shiny glowy things: all the motivation a gamer ever needs.

So finally, to return to the question I asked a little while ago: what defines an 'art' game?

Well, I think Jenova Chen and thatgamecompany’s Journey is a perfect example of art in the videogame medium. Journey is a simple, beautiful game. You are dropped in a desert wasteland, with no instruction other than a subtle direction of the players camera towards a mountain reaching above the clouds, off in the distance. There is little in the way of narrative: a few cryptic cutscenes in between stages are all players are offered, leaving much room for interpretation as to what the game means. The motivation for players lies in just what the Sam Hill is at the top of that mountain, and why your character wants it. Aside from this, Journey's art direction and command of light and colour inspires awe, with swathes of lush, free-floating red cloth and vast expanses of shifting golden sand (thatgamecompany loves them good particle effects). The score accompanies this perfectly, prompting you environmentally as well as emotionally, and sometimes just letting the aforementioned visuals do the talking. As for the matter of actually playing the game, most puzzles are solved using skills that are learned intuitively by the player, as opposed to being taught explicitly in-game. You are no longer hampered by complex button combinations to perform actions as your avatar; you are actually limited to jumping and communicating via vaguely musical noises (varying in pitch and volume depending on the duration of and intervals at which you press the O button). Two buttons and an analog stick. Simple.


I could talk about Journey for 80 pages if I needed to, but I’m sure you don’t want to hear my fan-fiction involving a certain glowing mountain top and its sensual eruption. I think the point I’ve been trying to make with this entry is that videogames are on the cusp of recognition as a valuable and unique art form (they have been for a while now), and I’m sure what I’ve shown you is more than enough for you to believe that. So keep supporting indie developers! Even if what they’re trying to sell you may look pretentious as all get-out, it might make you look at other games in a new light.

So there’s my first entry in what I’m sure will become an excuse to avoid university homework. Email me at ssjoystick@gmail.com about what you think qualifies a game as art, or whether games could ever qualify as art at all. Alternatively, you can ask politely for a peek at my Journey fanfic. Your funeral, dude.
- Sandsky