21 Jan 2010
Sourcing off the same list that I got Let the Right One In, I added Thirst to my Netflix queue. This time the origin is Korean instead of Scandinavian, so it’s another subtitled vampire movie. Turns out not all of the best vampire movies out there come from America, go figure.
Outside of the fact that I’ve had to read, there were no real other similarities between the movies. Let the Right One In was very down to earth, but Thirst is a bit more crazy. It’s a textbook recommendation to do some more background work before you decide to turn your loved one into a vampire. The end result is one character who’s overwhelmed with the guilt of their affliction, and another who’s drunk with power. A recipe for disaster (with disaster having proven correlation to entertainment value).
And it’s a love story, of course. Why is that all vampire stories are love stories? I’m not complaining, it’s just odd that there’s such a strong association. Maybe it’s an exploration of our love-inspired promises to be together forever. When you have to deal with real forever then it gets more complicated. Or maybe its that we just find all this blood lust somehow erotic. I’m sure there’s a long discussion to be had just on that, but I’m off-topic now.
So Thirst is the love story between a priest accidentally turned vampire and an oppressed but not-so-innocent girl. It’s one of those stories that is at its core familiar to you, but at the same time unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. Just enough off axis to keep me guessing. The movie also has a nice escalation to it. There’s a steady ramping up from the mundane to the supernatural that fits nicely with the progression of the characters. The end moments are particularly charming.
If I had to rank my recent forays into foreign vampire films I’d put Let the Right One In slightly higher. Maybe its just this Norwegian blood of mine, but I really connected to that movie’s pacing. It’s a simple story with a truly drab setting, but that all made it so much more real for me. But that’s just a slight preference, because Thirst is also definitely worth a spin. Unfortunately I think I’ve run out of vampire movies on my list. Maybe it’s time I bumped True Blood up in the queue?
04 Jan 2010
The internet is moving to a very democratic place where for all sorts of content there is the possibility for comments and ratings. This is generally a good thing, but transparency in the whole system is pretty critical because frankly most people don’t have a clue how to participate in a rating system.
I was poking around on Netflix and came across a user review that started with this:
I gave it a 5 star review because I love it. I may have given it an 8 on a 10 star scale, but since I only get 5 stars thats what its getting.
And then later in the same comment:
I can see where people would rate this lower but I rate things based on if I loved it and could watch it again. So all in all, okay 3D effects, obvious plot, and some of the acting is sub-par but I still loved it.
Um, yeah. I’m glad that Netflix tells me that this person is only 21% similar to me. But I’m still kind of bitter that their rating gets averaged in with everyone else’s and in the end result is something that I really can’t trust.
It’s extremely important to establish a consistent description of what different ratings mean. Netflix does indeed include a description in the tooltip:
1 - Hated It
2 - Didn’t Like It
3 - Liked It
4 - Really Liked It
5 - Loved It
Unfortunately these definitions leave a bit too much to the imagination. I mean, I love my wife and I love ice cream, yet these are not the same kinds of love. But the problem is that both are totally valid uses of the word. There’s the love that’s about deep meaning, and there’s the infatuation that is just wanting to experience something over and over again. When I rate my Netflix movies it’s based on some combination of these two aspects: meaning and repetition.
1 - I feel like less of a person for experiencing this
2 - That was kind of a waste of my time
3 - Not life altering, but entertaining
4 - That made me feel something
5 - I am a better person for having experienced this
1 - Actively upset that I spent any time watching that
2 - Wish I would have watched something else
3 - A fine use of my time to view it once
4 - Want to see it again
5 - Could watch it over and over; will watch it anytime it’s on
This is how movies like Back to the Future and Phoebe in Wonderland can both end up being five stars. It’s unfortunate that the different meaning behind those two ratings get lost, but it’s the best I can do with a one dimensional scale.
Tangent: It’s interesting browsing someone’s movie collection. Movie purchases operate primarily under the repetition scale, not the meaning scale. You can totally love a movie, yet not need feel the need to own it. You can also have total fluff that makes you feel good that you want to have around so you can watch whenever. As tempting as it can be to judge someone’s tastes by their displayed collection, it’s only part of the picture.
There’s less of a distinction with games (either of the video or board form) where repetition is more integral to the experience. Compare to Board Game Geek’s rating definitions:
10 - Outstanding. Always want to play and expect this will never change
9 - Excellent game. Always want to play it.
8 - Very good game. I like to play. Probably I’ll suggest it and will never turn down a game.
7 - Good game, usually willing to play.
6 - Ok game, some fun or challenge at least, will play sporadically if in the right mood.
5 - Average game, slightly boring, take it or leave it.
4 - Not so good, it doesn’t get me but could be talked into it on occasion.
3 - Likely won’t play this again although could be convinced. Bad.
2 - Extremely annoying game, won’t play this ever again.
1 - Defies description of a game. You won’t catch me dead playing this. Clearly broken.
People wouldn’t know what to do with a board game that changed their life but wasn’t worth playing a second time. Although that concept doesn’t exist in the board game world, it is something we regularly see in film. But I’d love to see the board game that delivered that experience.
I often see reviews that knock video games for being too short. Because video games are quite a bit more expensive than seeing a movie there’s an expectation that the consumer should get their money’s worth. My time is not as plentiful as it used to be, so a game that delivers a quality experience with no multiplayer or other replay value is just fine. I love the short and sweet game, and so their assumed negative criticism is actually a positive to me.
It’s kind of because of this information loss that I don’t try to give numeric ratings on my blog. But I do put a good deal of thought into it whenever I give one elsewhere. But it’s a problem that not everyone puts the same level of care into their ratings. I think my first exposure to this was a decade ago back in the days of “Am I Hot or Not”, which is probably the first real large scale use of internet driven ratings. One person might be sitting there agonizing over the fine difference between a seven and an eight; another person might be treating it as binary with “hot” being ten and “not” being one. And even if you have people putting real thought into it, they many not use the scale uniformly (for example I know that I underuse the one and two star ratings for Netflix).
It’s weird, because I think this whole rating thing is hugely important to helping people sift through ever growing heap of content available to us. But I also think that we as humans pretty much suck at it. I think that identity is key to making the experience more accurate, like when Netflix tells me that the rating I’m looking at is from someone who is a bad match for me, or when you choose a particular editorial source whose opinions align with our own. But how much will we really grow and be challenged if we’re only exposed to stuff that is like what we already like?
It’s a hard problem space, and I hope there are smart people out there thinking really hard about it. In the meantime, I rate this post a “Q”.
03 Jan 2010
Played on Xbox360
My love affair with rhythm video games has cooled a bit. I don’t lust after the experience like I once did. I’ll never turn down an opportunity to play, but it’s not something I’m generally seeking out anymore.
But every once in awhile an event comes along that reminds me just how awesome this whole music gaming thing can be. This time that was Beatles Rock Band with the family on Christmas Eve. Take a selection of music that pretty much everyone knows, have a large enough group of people such that you can cycle players in and out, and then add in some snacks and booze. It’s a Good Time.
Harmonix did a good job with the Beatles, giving a charming presentation of the timeline and a fitting visual style. But honestly it doesn’t matter that much. It’s about having the right songs with the right people. And that combination is all it really takes to make the band gaming experience awesome.
I think what’s really changed is that I used to be willing to play these games alone. The drive to master the instruments and nail the songs was incentive enough. But that passed, and I really only became interested in the cooperative experience. I’d still like to get better at the drums (as that it gives me the illusion that I could play drums for realz), but I recognize that that would require some solo practicing that I just wasn’t willing to be bothered with. Anyway, I had only been seeking the game out in group scenarios, and those opportunities had become less frequent, so I had started to forget that I cared. But it was nice to remember this holiday that it can be just as fun even after all this time.
31 Dec 2009
So I’ve been continuing my exploration of Castlevania: Symphony of the Night. And you know what, I took down the boss and saw the credits roll. So that means I beat the game, right? Apparently not so much. I just experienced the premature “bad” ending. In reality I’m only halfway through the game.
Truth be told, if I were playing this game back in 1997 when it came out, I don’t know if I’d have realized that I’d encountered a false ending. Yeah, it was kind of a crappy one, but there’s a long history of unsatisfying endings in video games. This ending didn’t resolve much of the story, but the story didn’t make that much sense anyway and it’s told with such horrific voice acting that there’s a chance someone would have skipped it. Even so, nothing about what’s said in the “bad” ending indicates that you did something wrong. You ascend the final staircase and beat down who you consider to be the mastermind of everything that’s gone down. After that you’re treated to some exposition and then some unskippable credits. How are you supposed to know that that wasn’t the real deal?
You may be thinking that perhaps I rushed through the game and missed otherwise obvious details. But I’m pretty obsessive about exploring every last inch of these types of games, fighting every monster and getting all the loot. When I came across the final staircase I knew it for what it was and backed off to go scour the rest of the map for secrets. I’ve played enough games to know that once you’ve beaten a game the incentive to go after the little side objectives drops off dramatically. If I don’t do it before the ending, chances are I’ll never do it. I wanted to make sure I got everything possible out of this game, so I held off the final boss fight as long as possible. When I was satisfied that I had got as many secrets as I could figure out I went off and got my (apparently bad) ending.
What was I missing? As thorough as I was, I apparently missed not one, but two critical items. If you get these two rings, equip them, and go to the clock tower then a door opens up. You go down there, get a cutscene and another item. If you wear that during the “final” boss battle and attack this mysterious green orb instead of the boss you break the curse and continue on to the second half of the game and eventually the real final boss. Totally obvious.
Okay, one of the rings I missed just because I forgot to go back somewhere after I got the bat form. But nothing about that ring obviously indicates what you should do with it. The other ring was in a secret area I didn’t figure out. It looked like a place you were supposed to bat and mist through, but you were actually supposed to equip this armor that lets you walk through spikes (which I hadn’t realized you could do). That ring more obviously indicated that you should wear it in the clock tower, but it’s also extraordinarily easy to miss. To get that spike armor you first have to figure out a whole sequence of other secrets.
If this were Metroid, it’d be the equivalent of having the game end after you fight Kraid just because you skipped picking up some hidden missile pack (no Mother Brain for you). Or like if Zelda if you never got to fight Ganon because you missed one of the heart containers. Why would someone intentionally obfuscate such a large chunk of the game? It’s a terrible idea.
The only reason I knew to continue was that I had heard the term “inverted castle” thrown around in reference to this game and when I hit the ending I hadn’t seen any inverted castles. I also had an inkling that there was more because I’d played the GBA and DS games, where they’ve for whatever reason continued this tradition of premature bad endings. Thankfully those ones were more obvious with their badness.
And that’s the problem, isn’t it? In order to have a false ending it needs to be sufficiently bad. Like you screw up and a nuclear bomb goes off in Manhattan. You know, obvious failure. You should be thinking “whoops, that probably wasn’t supposed to happen.” Not “good job me, now let’s watch the credits.” You essentially want something that dumps you at a clear “Game Over” screen (although not Symphony’s, which has to be the cheesiest Game Over screen ever). It’s okay to have a “what if” scenario, but not if the “if” is convincing enough that you’re willing to accept it and unknowingly miss out on half the experience.
21 Dec 2009
Played on PC
Okay, enough talking about games that used to be better. It’s time for some positive evolution.
Torchlight is Diablo III for those of us who can’t wait for Diablo III. It’s that same delightfully simple visceral click-fest that kept us all loot-crazed in the late 90s. Well, it’s not the same; it’s way better. Not only does it feature great graphics and fantastic art direction, it’s also streamlined to remove any of the frustrations with the old formula. Oh, and did I mention that it’s cheap? Yep, $20. Actually, this weekend it’s only $10 on Steam.
If you’ve never played Diablo, know that Torchlight may still be the game for you. All you need to enjoy this game is a mouse and a pulse. Left button for one spell, right button for another, and go. The MMO genre stole a lot of it’s core ideas from Diablo, but slowed everything way way down. I think we’d all forgotten that it doesn’t have to be that hard. You don’t need rows and rows of action bars with obscure abilities to have tactical depth. Left button, right button, win.
So you click like mad and unleash your fury on hordes of baddies. Then you run around and scoop up their shiny loot. Maybe you got some fancy new thing for yourself (yay!), but if not you can sell it for cash money. And this time around you have a pet to help you with this time honored task. That’s right, you don’t even need to stop the action in order to sell your goodies - just strap the loot to your pet and tell it to come back with the proceeds. But your pet isn’t just a vendor mule - they fight alongside you and can even be given gear and spells. It’s brilliant.
Torchlight stands on its own, but it really excites me that this game is the foundation for an MMO the developer is working on. They’re going to take this simple wonderful gameplay and bring in that connectivity and persistence that makes MMOs so compelling. I’m officially excited.
I could go on and on about this game. But it’d be mean of me to post about it after the weekend deal. So instead I’ll just leave you with some words from Alec over at Rock Paper Shotgun:
The odd thing with trying to write about Torchlight is that I can barely remember playing it. I can remember installing it, then darkness, and then about a week later. I didn’t feel sad or afraid come said week later - time had just blinked past, pleasurably if not terribly memorably. This might sound like a backhanded compliment, but really it’s a straight compliment - sometimes, it’s exactly this phenomenon that we play games for. We want something to take away time that we have no other purpose for. Not everything needs to fill our heads with tales of grand adventure, awe of digital entertainment’s great diversity or triumph over statistical adversity. Torchlight takes away time, quickly and painlessly, replacing it with a vague sense of achievement and a dim hunger for things that can be obtained with ease. If your life is overcomplicated, I can confidently prescribe Torchlight.
It isn’t this precise and effective medicine simply because it’s a decent Diablo clone. It’s because it ruthlessly removes the extraneous ingredients of what was already an incredibly simple formula. Anything that could waste your time or cause annoyance has been cleanly excised, leaving the perhaps cynical but absolute truth of why we play such games: we want constant reward from minimal effort. Click, kill, click, upgrade, click, kill, kill, kill, UPGRADE. It’s not even risk/reward - it’s just reward/reward