61 Frames Per Second : hironobu sakaguchi

Star Ocean and the HD-JRPG Conundrum

John Constantine — Wed, 14 Jan 2009 23:00:00 GMT

After literal years of anticipation on the part of geeks across the world, Square-Enix will finally release Star Ocean 4: The Last Hope for the Xbox 360 on February 24th, 2009. It’s a momentous occasion for the genre. Star Ocean is the first A-list JRPG franchise to make the leap to HD consoles. You can argue that Tales of Vesperia earned the honor first, but Namco’s Tales franchise is more a brand/masthead than a bonafide franchise, one even more diluted than the Final Fantasy heading. I’ve never cared for the Star Ocean series’ battle system – Penny Arcade said it best when they described Star Ocean’s battles as “deciding which character gets molested by lizard men” – and its science-fiction narrative has always been more interesting in concept than in execution. I want to be excited about Star Ocean 4, but not because I feel like I’m missing out on a series that so many other gamers seem to love. I just want to be excited about an HD-JRPG.

JRPGs have been enjoying a renaissance on the DS, not unlike the one they had on the PS1 some twelve years back, but the genre has been woefully underserved on the 360 and PS3. Half-baked efforts like Enchanted Arms and Eternal Sonata, janky action-based experiments like Infinite Undiscovery and The Last Remnant, lumbering traditionalist games like the aforementioned Vesperia, and the twin disappointments from Hironobu Sakaguchi, Lost Odyssey and Blue Dragon, are all we lovers of leveling and melodrama have had to sink our teeth into since the 360 launched in 2005. Why? Why is it that the best JRPGs to come out in 2008 were either re-releases or games made on decade-old hardware?

The most obvious answer is Japan. Not a little has been written about the decline and stagnation of the Japanese games industry, so it’s no wonder that their number-one genre has suffered alongside the console market in the transition to HD. The answer is slightly more complicated though. The disintegration of traditional genres has defined console gaming over the past few years. Look at Call of Duty 4, a game that transcends the traditional first-person shooter mold by making RPG-style character growth an essential component of its multi-player modes. Or take Little Big Planet, a game which is a platformer at its core, but whose real appeal is in molding the game into whatever you want it to be. Shooters are no longer just shooters, platformers aren’t just platformers. JRPGs have yet to successfully transcend the boundaries of design tradition, and attempts to grow the genre, like The Last Remnant, have been underfunded.

I hope that the 360 and PS3 get a JRPG as exciting and adventurous as Persona 3 and 4, and I hope that game gets made soon. But I’m starting to wonder if videogames finally have their genre equivalent of jazz: an art form that’s also an evolutionary dead end.

Related links:

Why, God, Why: More SaGa Games on the Way
Your JRPG Narrative is Bad and You Should Feel Bad
Fun Fact: Dylan Cuthbert - The Genre Masher
Pay-Per-Grind: Tales of Vesperia Let’s You Level With Cash
Whatcha Playing: Tales of Symphonia: Dawn of the New World
Low-Rent RPGs: A Good Idea

Whatcha Playing: On the Road Again

John Constantine — Tue, 09 Dec 2008 01:15:00 GMT

Wherein travelling inevitably leads to thinking about Zelda, the nature of game linearity and unskippable passive sequences in games.

Five men in their late 20s are heading south on route 80 through New Jersey in a white Dodge Caravan. They listen to loud music and discuss plans for the weekend ahead of them. Before too long, they pass signs for a town called Hibernia. As they are a group raised on far, far too many videogames, the fanciful name of what is likely a small, simple town full of good, honest folk quickly transforms it into a land of adventure, intrigue and obnoxious obligation.

“Ho stranger! You have stopped for gasoline in Hibernia? I would love to give you some, but first you must travel beyond the woods and acquire a ruffled dragoon feather. I need them to make gasoline!”

“Hey! Hey! Have you tried pressing Z to look at signs? Press A to read signs! Hey!”

“You must equip a sword and a shield before you can leave the car. Who would leave the car without a sword and a shield?”

Yes, even something as an innocuous as a roadtrip leads to making fun of Zelda, and by proxy, every other videogame that makes you engage in a string of needless bullshit before letting you actually play. After we got the jokes out of our systems, we did start talking about how, when the itch arises, we all love going back and replaying past Zeldas, but have almost no desire to replay any of the 3D games any time soon. Everyone in the van has affection for Ocarina and Wind Waker – Opinions on Majora’s Mask vary. Personally, I find it to be a freaking chore to play, no matter how creative. Twilight Princess, we agreed, feels like actually doing chores when you play it. – but the prospect of wading through a never ending stream of unskippable conversations makes returning to these games unsavory. The constant handholding is bad enough, even without taking five minutes to listen to some owl made of triangles rant about a mountain, finally getting through the diatribe, and accidentally asking him to repeat himself.

The conversation was oddly prescient. I started playing the DS remake of Final Fantasy IV for the first time shortly after everyone settled into the drive. I enjoyed the Final Fantasy III remake two years back, and was ready to see what IV had to offer. After the ever-familiar Red Wings assault on Mysidia, Cecil’s sad departure from Baron, his introduction to Rydia and sad exile, I noticed that the shift from Final Fantasy III to IV was significant. Between 1990 and 1991, Hirnobu Sakaguchi made two RPGs, one that offered a great deal of exploratory freedom at the game’s outset and then another that led the player largely by the nose throughout its initial hours. Final Fantasy IV, in any of its incarnations, is nowhere near as coddling as Ocarina of Time, but it is representative of games, specifically adventure and role-playing games, becoming increasingly linear following the 8-bit era. What caused the shift? Why did adventure in games start to become as directed as it is in the mediums that inspired it?

Yesterday, on our return trip, we passed by Hibernia a second time and chuckled again. It occurred to me that the trip made a good model for adventure design. We couldn’t avoid passing Hibernia. It was inevitable that our route would bring us past it multiple times. But we didn’t know it ahead of time, we were left to find it on our own. Shouldn’t every adventure be that way?

Related links:

Whatcha Playing: Tale of Symphonia: Dawn of the New World
Whatcha Playing: The Palette Cleanser
Whatcha Playing: de Blob
Whatcha Playing: Weight of the Stone
Know Your Final Fantasy IV Trivia. It Could Save Your Life.
Gaming on a Train: Final Fantasy IV

The 61FPS Review: Dragon Quest IV – Chapters of the Chosen

John Constantine — Mon, 22 Sep 2008 23:00:00 GMT

I’m not going to lie to you. Dragon Quest and I have history. It goes back some twenty years at this point, but our relationship today isn’t one based on nostalgia. Back in 2005, you could say that Dragon Quest and I were in, to put it delicately, an unhealthily codependent situation. Dragon Quest VIII had just come out in the United States, fresh faced and full of gorgeous cel-shaded graphics, newly minted menus and music, and voice work of unprecedented quality. But Dragon Quest has never had much clout on this side of the Pacific, and this was its first time going by its real name instead of Dragon Warrior. It needed someone, anyone to play it. Me, I was a recovering role-playing addict, coming off of a decade of Squaresoft devotion, trying my best to stay off the ability trees, the melodrama, and the menus. I lapsed occasionally into turn-based adventures to save the world. I’d been doing good up until that November, hadn’t touched a JRPG since Shadow Hearts: Covenant the previous winter, but I could feel myself weakening. I just wasn’t strong enough. So Dragon Quest VIII and I found each other at our weakest.

Between November 15th and December 1st, I clocked just under ninety-six hours playing Dragon Quest VIII. Yeah, that’s right. Four days of my life.

And I loved it.

Each Dragon Quest, since the first game sprung from Yuuji Horii’s succulent brain in 1986, is an exercise in purity, a defining marquee in a genre known today for its decadence, bombast, and tedium. Dragon Quest is more often noted for its resistance to change rather than its consistent quality across the years. It’s true, Dragon Quest has remained, across its sequels, spin-offs, and numerous remakes, largely the same game it was two decades ago. The essential play – explore a large fantasy world, fight monsters in a first person perspective, collect items, talk to every single person you meet – has never changed in the core titles. But every iteration finds its elegant formula incrementally refined, and to great effect. Dragon Quest II introduced multi-character parties, III a job system that went on to become a genre staple, and so on and so forth. Dragon Quest IV: Chapters of the Chosen, a DS remake of a Playstation remake of the NES original, could be viewed as a step back from the lavishly produced (though still familiar) Dragon Quest VIII, a retreat meant to acclimate players to the series’ transition from home consoles to portables. Surprisingly, Chapters of the Chosen isn’t a retreat at all. It is instead a perfect model of the JRPG as Horii envisioned it, immediately accessible, streamlined from the menu-juggling, command-selecting rigor moral, and trimmed of the excess narrative fat that’s typified the genre since Hironobu Sakaguchi began emphasizing drama over play in Final Fantasy.

That said, Chapters of the Chosen’s story shouldn’t be undersold. While it isn’t full of lengthy dialogues, it isn’t without dramatic instance. The original Dragon Quest IV’s variation on the DQ theme was its narrative structure: following a brief prologue wherein you play as the classic silent-protagonist of your choosing, the game is broken into the titular chapters, each one devoted to the seven other party characters that ultimately make up your adventuring party. These chapters allow you to play and experience the inciting incidents that introduce these characters into the game’s arching save-the-world narrative. Despite the limited characterization, this allows you to form deeper attachments to these characters than you would if the game followed the JRPG formula of the protagonist being the inciting incident that draws these characters into the adventure. It’s both a unique take on JRPG storytelling as well as a way to better facilitate play; since you are playing these characters individually during the game’s first half, you aren’t tied to “level grinding” them later (or having their levels superficially bumped up to match your protagonist’s.) Even after entering the game’s fifth chapter and having gathered the disparate characters together, Chapters of the Chosen is never structured to serve the story. The story is developed just enough to encourage more play, more exploration, more fights, more collection. This is why Dragon Quest IV, and its parent series, is the model of Japanese role-playing. It is, first and foremost, a game, rather than an interactive anime or fantasy novel with a lot of fighting thrown on top of it. There aren’t enough kind words to give to its presentation, from Koichi Sugiyama’s re-mastered score to Akira Toriyama’s endearing art, not to mention Square-Enix’s remarkable colloquialism-laden localization. But they’re all just icing on the proverbial cake.

I stopped carrying the Nintendo DS on my morning commute recently, worried that I was becoming illiterate after playing videogames during every literal moment of my free time throughout the day. I knew Dragon Quest was coming though. I’m not a strong man. We fell back into our old routine in the past week since its release. To be honest, it’s remarkable I was even able to stop playing long enough to write this. It’s wrong, really, to let a game, even one as great as Chapters of the Chosen, take you over.

But it feels so, so right.

Grade: A

Previous 61FPS Reviews:

Metal Gear Solid IV
Ninja Gaiden 2
Grand Theft Auto IV
Wii Fit

The Ten Most Adventurous Sequels in Gaming History, Part 1

Peter Smith — Fri, 06 Jun 2008 00:30:00 GMT

More than any other creative medium, videogames rely on sequels. Unlike serial fiction (television, comics) or film franchising focused on continuing narrative and familiar characters, videogame sequels — at their best, mind you — are not just the next chapter of a story or the return of a popular protagonist. The most successful gameplay designs are perfected through revision. Practice, as they say, makes perfect. And while sequel-as-business-model more often than not leads to stagnation, sometimes pandering to the audience reveals a vein of creativity richer than that found in the source material. Sometimes, a good idea needs to be demolished and rebuilt over its original foundation to become great. This week, 61 Frames Per Second takes a look at gaming's ten most adventurous sequels: direct successors that significantly alter the fundamental design, aesthetically and mechanically, of their predecessors. Some of the entries on this list are great successes, others failures. But they all broke the mold to change our ideas about play. — John Constantine

Adventure Island IV

Even as an old-school die-hard I've always been pretty indifferent to the Adventure Island series. Sure, it's solid hop-and-bopping, but without much aesthetic or architectural distinction. Does anyone feel passionately about Adventure Island, really? More people might if Adventure Island IV had come out in the States. IV melds the series's standard run-around-whacking-stuff-with-other-stuff mechanics to an ambitious Metroid-esque superstructure, in which newly acquired items must be used to open previously inaccessible sections of a large, continuous map. (The snowboard you pick up in one area gives you passage through a snowy field, and so forth.) This is a familiar tactic today — see recent Castlevania games, for example — but at the time it was unusual, and certainly not where you'd have expected a staid platforming series to go. — Peter Smith

Super Mario Bros. 2 (Super Mario Bros. USA)

Quiet down. I know Super Mario Bros. 2 is Doki Doki Panic. As soon as those sprites were transplanted into Shigeru Miyamoto's platforming follow-up to Super Mario Bros., it became a Mario game, and SMB's first true sequel. Even Nintendo went on to re-categorize Takashi Tezuka's Japan-only Super Mario Bros. 2 as little more than an expansion of SMB (it was re-released in 1993 as Super Mario Bros: For Super Players in Japan and Super Mario Bros: The Lost Levels in the west.) What's remarkable about Super Mario Bros. 2 is not its unorthodox development; it's how it warps the fundamentals of SMB (and even J-SMB2) while maintaining familiarity. The aesthetic shift from SMB risked alienating Nintendo's still-growing fan base but it made Mario and his friends even more recognizable as icons. Play wise, it expands on the multi-character abilities of J-SMB2, and re-defines progression through levels. In SMB, the goal is merely to get to the end of a series of stages and then get past Bowser at the end of castle. In SMB2, the completion of levels is usually tied to items, whether it's procuring keys to get past locked doors or retrieving a magic orb. The game also has multiple antagonists that have to be physically defeated as opposed to just avoided as with Bowser. It was also pretty adventurous to have a transgendered dinosaur in a game for kids. Risky! — JC

Final Fantasy II

The old joke is that, by rights, Final Fantasy II shouldn't even exist. In 1987, Final Fantasy was intended to be a young Hironobu Sakaguchi's swansong, an experiment in the rising role-playing genre made popular by Yuji Horii just a year before. Its success has kept the Gooch making games for two decades now, but the series, and JRPGs broadly, owes many of its enduring characteristics to the sequel that never should have been. Final Fantasy II was designed by Akitoshi Kawazu, best known for the SaGa series. While the first FF, with the exception of a few aesthetic flourishes, was more or less a clone of the first two Dragon Quests, Final Fantasy II placed an emphasis on story and character that was absent from the genre previously. Rudimentary as the tale of empire and resistance was, the story of Firion, Maria, Guy and Leon in Palemecia was a drastic shift from the western-style hero-epics that typified the genre in 1988. Kawazu also made some decidedly ill-advised changes to play. As opposed to the traditional system of gaining experience points through battle to build character's statistical attributes — a foundational aspect of role-playing games, digital and non — each action in the game improved only through use. Increasing defense requires defending against attacks, increasing attack power requires attacking, and so on and so forth. This system of growth was applied to every interactive aspect of the game and quickly became tedious. But it was one more new idea in a game full of them. — JC

Click here for Part 2.
Click here for Part 3.