4: Half-Life
It's an unsurprising choice most folks make when noting their "top games" lists. It's an anachronistic choice when made today though. For our supposedly refined taste in games now, many of the elements in Half-Life are just plain silly either in or out of context. Chief among these being crates filled with ammo.
Today, when we play our epic cinematic masterpieces ammo is typically found in the most obvious places, off the bodies of the fallen. Some games take this process of ammo collection and make it an mini game in and of itself, such as recent PC gaming darling Crysis. There, a dedicated press of the action key is required before you can even pick up the ammo. In games such as Call of Duty 6: Modern Warfare 2- The Fall of Troy, the acquiring of ammo is so automatic that not even a sound effect chimes in to mark your pickups.
Meanwhile, in Half-Life, you smash an man sized crate with a crowbar to find exactly one rocket inside. This crate, logically enough, being located within an office complex.
As a staff member of an office complex I can say with great certainty, though not complete, that I have never once seen a missile fall out of a crate.
The beauty of the "smash the crate" action was, however, that it gussied up a the age old tradition of opening the treasure chest with something that felt very real and tactile.
I could list the other achievements of Half-Life- its two dozen different weapons, its unshifting perspective, its realistic level design, its lengthy playtime, its excellent multiplayer, and its fantastic expansion packs- but they all pale to the fact that Half-Life was the first polished shooter.
Compared to the other games I'll be running down on this countdown list, Half-Life was the only title that was feature complete right out of the box. There are no showstopping bugs, there is no need to wait for user content or patches to fix the game, and- most importantly- none of its mechanics are half baked.
Here's an example:
The Health/Armor Stations.
Bungie's Marathon games, forever landlocked on Mac platforms, were the first noteworthy titles to make use of wall mounted Medkits, despite the actual forefather of the concept being a rightfully forgotten title called Corridor 7. Marathon let the player recharge their energy at these vending machines at will.
What Bungie forgot, however, was providing the player with any other means of regenerating life. It became easy to trap yourself in a nigh unwinnable situation because you entered a level with barely any life and no Med station in sight for a good half hour or so. Furthermore, there was absolutely no risk involved in any Marathon map once these stations were discovered. Players could simply take a few hits from a fight, run back to the health teat, then recklessly charge back into the fray with nary a consequence.
Foreshadowing of modern FPS health systems I suppose.
Half-Life, though, offered players the sanctuary of the teat fairly frequently but with a finite number of health points each could bestow. Rather than seeing each health unit as something to suckle on through the entire mission, each had to be used sparingly get the most out of them. A succinct example of Valves "refine not innovate" philosophy.
Although I've claimed much ado about how much was included within the game itself, I can't deny its modding scene saved that game from being just another notch on the bedpost of PC gaming's "unappreciated gems".
Half-Life did give us Counter Strike after all. It also begot: Team Fortress Classic, Day of Defeat, Vampire Slayer, Action Half-Life, The Opera, They Hunger, Deathmatch Classic, and at least 30 different single player games I can barely remember playing.
In short, that single game could provide someone with enough content to last them at least a decade of games.
It offered me far more, it introduced me to a friend.
Half-Life cannot be undersold in its importance of shaping games we play now.
Go to www.steampowered.com and pick it up for ten bucks. It's the best money you'll have ever spent on a game.
2/28/10
2/25/10
A List PART 1
So recently I've been getting asked by friends (they are not imaginary I swear) what I consider my tops five games to be.
It's a simple question really, as everyone is capable of rattling off a list of favorites at will. But then I got to thinking how could I objectively examine each game I've played based upon my own criteria of what is a "good game". This then creates the matter of complete subjectivity again and thus creates a temporal paradox but whatever.
Thus here were my three criteria when composing this list:
Design Quality: Is the control sound? Are the game rules in place logical and fun to follow? Is there a consistency throughout the ruleset?
Personal Significance: Is this game "important" to me? How have other games impacted my ideas on games by the contents of this title?
Longevity: Am I still playing this game now? Will I still be playing and talking about this game in the future? What impacts will this game have on future titles and even my life?
I can't deny this entire deal is as pompous and masturbatory as possible.
Without further adieu, onto the list.
5: Rock Band (Franchise)
Rock Band is a direct insult to both video games and music. At it's core, the game is a simple recreation of Simon where, at a perfect level of play, your only real decision making comes through where to double your points for a short time. Thus, it spits directly in the face of the entire design philosophy of player "agency" which countless games have been striving for over the past two decades.
For real musicians, the game has become a defacto signifier of "selling out". There is absolutely no real musical benefit for becoming "good" at the game, nor does it even come close to simulating the countless agonizing hours I have no doubt many musicians undergo when learning those opening notes of "Stairway to Heaven".
Despite all of this, it is a game I've clocked- were you to average it out over time- at least an hour a day for over two years. In terms of being a "most played game", Rock Band is- undoubtedly- it.
Games are, of course, about escapist fantasy. Could anybody deny the power of the "rockstar" fantasy? Rock Band, ultimately a futile exercise in chasing after a higher score, is second life in a box.
Let's go into a little backstory everyone loved so dearly with my FEAR 2 review.
It was January 2006 and I had just returned from winter break back to Fitchburg State. Once again, I was coming back from the mall with the now defunct Circuit City with a new game in tow. This game, know as "Guitar Hero", was a monstrosity few had ever seen before. It wasn't simply a "game" you bought for ninety bucks. No, this was a whole new beast.
It's oversized crate contained a guitar which, as related to me by one of my floormates in the front seat, looked "Like something meant for preschoolers". He wasn't incorrect, of course, but I believe his perspective might have been a touch jaded. He was, after all, an actual guitarist.
The ride to the mall Gamestop is a rather surreal experience in retrospect, feeling as if it took place almost a lifetime ago. Buying the game was essentially a fluke in and of itself. Being a fan of any title with a big controller attached to it, a quick glance over an online review was enough to convince me to check it out.
That evening, as the wails of a poorly covered Boston song echoed the halls, I had found a new addiction.
Guitar Hero 1 was a very flawed game technically, resulting in an absolutely skewered difficulty curve when it came to jumping between skill levels. Of course, hindsight is always 20/20 so at the time it was borderline nirvana.
Everyone on the floor had a different song they enjoyed hearing and playing. Roommate one, Matt, always enjoyed clicking along with Ziggy Stardust while roommate two, Dan, would end up singing along to Stellar unconsciously.
It created a sort of "meta" game for us. Me and Matt would trade scores back and forth on Ziggy while Dan would occasionally play along on his acoustic. At the same time, it was just so restrictive. "Man," Matt would typically quip, "they really need some drums in this." I, meanwhile, would wonder why I couldn't play the bass.
Guitar Hero 2 entered the scene with less fanfare than the first. I believed I'd gotten my fill of the first game and the tracklist of the second was average at best, but the addition of a second player made the experience far more interesting if only to have different tracks to play with.
When Rock Band was released in November of 2007, I remember driving through almost blizzard like conditions to get the boxed instrument set. While the GH series hinted at a sort of "meta" experience, Rock Band was a new world.
I found, connected and fell out with an entire group of friends due to the game. Even typing that sentence now creates a rather nostalgic headrush. Booting up the game for the first time and hitting the opening lick of "Mississippi Queen", complete with the clack of the drumsticks and the off-tempo singing of a lost friend, still resonates with me.
I can even remember the song I was singing the night shit really hit the fan: "Pretend We're Dead". A fitting anthem.
Even now, that group long since gone, I still chip away with my plastic guitar. Last summer I journeyed into Boston with some old high school friends to play the game with some of the developers and other fans at the Hancock Theater. As we played Foreplay/Longtime with the audience clapping and booing in time, the dissipation between the reality and fantasy was complete. It's more than a game and it's far more than a feeling I guess.
STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT PART
It's a simple question really, as everyone is capable of rattling off a list of favorites at will. But then I got to thinking how could I objectively examine each game I've played based upon my own criteria of what is a "good game". This then creates the matter of complete subjectivity again and thus creates a temporal paradox but whatever.
Thus here were my three criteria when composing this list:
Design Quality: Is the control sound? Are the game rules in place logical and fun to follow? Is there a consistency throughout the ruleset?
Personal Significance: Is this game "important" to me? How have other games impacted my ideas on games by the contents of this title?
Longevity: Am I still playing this game now? Will I still be playing and talking about this game in the future? What impacts will this game have on future titles and even my life?
I can't deny this entire deal is as pompous and masturbatory as possible.
Without further adieu, onto the list.
5: Rock Band (Franchise)
Rock Band is a direct insult to both video games and music. At it's core, the game is a simple recreation of Simon where, at a perfect level of play, your only real decision making comes through where to double your points for a short time. Thus, it spits directly in the face of the entire design philosophy of player "agency" which countless games have been striving for over the past two decades.
For real musicians, the game has become a defacto signifier of "selling out". There is absolutely no real musical benefit for becoming "good" at the game, nor does it even come close to simulating the countless agonizing hours I have no doubt many musicians undergo when learning those opening notes of "Stairway to Heaven".
Despite all of this, it is a game I've clocked- were you to average it out over time- at least an hour a day for over two years. In terms of being a "most played game", Rock Band is- undoubtedly- it.
Games are, of course, about escapist fantasy. Could anybody deny the power of the "rockstar" fantasy? Rock Band, ultimately a futile exercise in chasing after a higher score, is second life in a box.
Let's go into a little backstory everyone loved so dearly with my FEAR 2 review.
It was January 2006 and I had just returned from winter break back to Fitchburg State. Once again, I was coming back from the mall with the now defunct Circuit City with a new game in tow. This game, know as "Guitar Hero", was a monstrosity few had ever seen before. It wasn't simply a "game" you bought for ninety bucks. No, this was a whole new beast.
It's oversized crate contained a guitar which, as related to me by one of my floormates in the front seat, looked "Like something meant for preschoolers". He wasn't incorrect, of course, but I believe his perspective might have been a touch jaded. He was, after all, an actual guitarist.
The ride to the mall Gamestop is a rather surreal experience in retrospect, feeling as if it took place almost a lifetime ago. Buying the game was essentially a fluke in and of itself. Being a fan of any title with a big controller attached to it, a quick glance over an online review was enough to convince me to check it out.
That evening, as the wails of a poorly covered Boston song echoed the halls, I had found a new addiction.
Guitar Hero 1 was a very flawed game technically, resulting in an absolutely skewered difficulty curve when it came to jumping between skill levels. Of course, hindsight is always 20/20 so at the time it was borderline nirvana.
Everyone on the floor had a different song they enjoyed hearing and playing. Roommate one, Matt, always enjoyed clicking along with Ziggy Stardust while roommate two, Dan, would end up singing along to Stellar unconsciously.
It created a sort of "meta" game for us. Me and Matt would trade scores back and forth on Ziggy while Dan would occasionally play along on his acoustic. At the same time, it was just so restrictive. "Man," Matt would typically quip, "they really need some drums in this." I, meanwhile, would wonder why I couldn't play the bass.
Guitar Hero 2 entered the scene with less fanfare than the first. I believed I'd gotten my fill of the first game and the tracklist of the second was average at best, but the addition of a second player made the experience far more interesting if only to have different tracks to play with.
When Rock Band was released in November of 2007, I remember driving through almost blizzard like conditions to get the boxed instrument set. While the GH series hinted at a sort of "meta" experience, Rock Band was a new world.
I found, connected and fell out with an entire group of friends due to the game. Even typing that sentence now creates a rather nostalgic headrush. Booting up the game for the first time and hitting the opening lick of "Mississippi Queen", complete with the clack of the drumsticks and the off-tempo singing of a lost friend, still resonates with me.
I can even remember the song I was singing the night shit really hit the fan: "Pretend We're Dead". A fitting anthem.
Even now, that group long since gone, I still chip away with my plastic guitar. Last summer I journeyed into Boston with some old high school friends to play the game with some of the developers and other fans at the Hancock Theater. As we played Foreplay/Longtime with the audience clapping and booing in time, the dissipation between the reality and fantasy was complete. It's more than a game and it's far more than a feeling I guess.
STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT PART
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