As a kid, I thought life was like a voyage to the stars. You set out with a lot of hissing and a fiery roar, and then climbed skyward, shedding phases like spent rockets until bursting from the atmosphere of adolescence into adult space, fully trained and equipped to make goofy videos of yourself drinking water globules through a straw - or whatever it is that astronauts do.
Now, though, after a fair few laps around the sun, I realise that life isn’t about leaving things behind, or becoming complete, but about growth and change. Like a grand old tree with a scrawny sapling at its core, we’re all still babies and kids and teenagers inside - we don’t leave these phases behind, but rather add to them as they, in turn, continue to influence what we choose to add.
I was reminded of my roots, recently, after developing a sudden and intense nostalgia for Super Mario World. 8-bit consoles never really did it for me - the murky, blocky graphics were a deal-breaker - while, by contrast, the vibrant palette and crisp sprites of the moustachioed one’s first 16-bit adventure pushed me to the point of meltdown as I begged the maternal unit to stop dragging me around the shops, and convey me and my portal to Dinosaur Land home.
One of the greats, no question.
I had a thirteen-inch television to play on, which crackled whenever there was a lot of yellow on screen, but love was deaf. The game consumed me. If I wasn’t at school or asleep, I was beavering away, trying to find and complete all 96 levels. But it wasn’t just the challenge. Considering gameplay alone, it wasn’t all that sophisticated, paling alongside the action of Pilotwings, say. The enjoyment came from a combination of exploration, achievement, and the pleasure of encountering Bowser’s whimsical minions. In other words, it was an aptly titled game - a world that I loved being a part of until I’d explored every pipe and cranny.
Replaying it certainly took me back, though of course it wasn’t the same. The delight I found in seeing Yoshi emerge with his signature exclamation, the joy of swooping flight, and the horror of one-block ice pillars inspired a host of fond memories, but couldn’t recreate the magic I felt way back when. That’s only natural, of course - I’ve moved on, games have moved on; the elements which come together to create the experience of being spellbound have changed, and I’ve been wondering, lately, what the future will bring - whether games will inspire that kind of childlike awe again. There’s no question that technology marches on. Every time an advance in hardware and graphical output is made, the nuance which can be delivered increases, and with it, the capacity to engage the mind and move the soul. And fortunately, there’s been enough innovation, both actual and promised, to remain enthusiastic about gaming’s future.
L.A. Noire is arguably the most sophisticated role-playing game yet devised.
L.A. Noire, for instance, was a bold attempt at using the relatively new technique of motion-capture to draw on a deeper level of calculation than we’re used to. Rather than its characters simply delivering lines to be taken at face value, the crux of the game lay in countering deception. Rather than having a character simply lie, and seeing their dishonesty because they’re as hammy as a pantomime villain, we were asked to listen to the stress in their voices, and watch their faces for the hint of an untruth.
On the basis of this feature, L.A. Noire is arguably the most sophisticated role-playing game yet devised. Where the genre has always referred to imaginative role-playing, like a child putting on a conical hat and bathrobe and pretending to be a wizard, L.A. Noire involves a cognitive-emotional type, inviting the player to use their knowledge of human behaviour to make judgements about what’s in a character’s mind - to play the role of a detective in practice. For this innovation, L.A. Noire may one day come to be considered a seminal work in the path towards true interactivity - a future closer to The Matrix (the simulation itself) than Choose Your Own Adventure.
Reading expressions is a fascinating gameplay concept.
The Playstation 4’s unveiling earlier this year demonstrated even more progress along these lines. As David Cage of Quantic Dream (developer of Heavy Rain) explains, superior aesthetics permit more deeply felt and complex emotional engagement. The real-time rendered model of an elderly man’s face that’s demonstrated, offering film-grade CGI detail, is to L.A. Noire’s characters as a photograph is to a charcoal sketch.
The fact that the model is so lifelike isn’t exactly the point, though. Rather, it’s how convincingly it conveys a subtle range of feelings. Not just the impression of feelings, like a Muppet or a cartoon, but something indistinguishable from the real thing. In fact, at one point it becomes uncanny. When Cage states that the man’s eyes are windows to his soul, it isn’t your typical launch hyperbole. Theological arguments aside, the experience is nearly identical to meeting a real person’s gaze. There appears to be a genuine human presence behind the model’s eyes; a depth that seems to transcend mimicry. The experience of the uncanny involves discovering that fantasy seems to have bled into reality, and I have to admit that I found it difficult to suspend my disbelief - the knowledge that the man was merely an image momentarily eluded me.
Even more terrifying when he tells you to get off his lawn.
When I consider that a disembodied head on a projection screen was able to simulate the reality of encountering another person so effectively, the prospect of a fully realised world is particularly exciting; even somewhat daunting. What incredible intensity might be created when a character genuinely feels like a friend; when fighting to save a village isn’t simply motivated by the desire to progress, but a hopeless crush on the blacksmith’s daughter? It would appear that a new dawn for, not only RPGs, but gaming in general is on the horizon.
While my kid-self was enraptured by some bright, cutesy characters and dinky melodies, today I need more sophisticated forms of engagement to inspire a comparable experience. Fortunately, the next generation of games seem to have grown up with me. If the stories are as powerfully realised as the visuals, we can look forward to gaming achieving an artistic power comparable to music and film; to becoming recognised not only for tactical manoeuvring and hand-eye coordination, but for deep and enduring emotional engagement; for interactive storytelling that requires us to draw on the gamut of our humanity, and which grows beyond the television screen to reverberate within our everyday lives.
David Cage, during his presentation, made a good analogy between film and games. It was the development of technology that permitted cinema to become the powerful art-form we know it as today. On the cusp of a profound leap in simulative power, gaming appears ready to make a similar transition.
What do you think? Is Daniel a cockeyed optimist, or can new technology truly transform gaming?
Daniel Clark is an Australian freelance writer. He recently explored the psychology of horror games. Why not follow him and join the IGN Australia Facebook community too?
Source : ign[dot]com
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