For anyone who may not have heard, EA’s Chief Operating Officer, Nick Earl, recently revealed plans to introduce a new premium DLC system, in which EA will charge a fee for an extended game demo, comparable in size and content to Battlefield 1943.

This could potentially be an innovating strategy for EA, providing gamers with early content of anticipated games, while giving EA valuable gamer reaction to said games. Unfortunately, it looks like there’s already a lot of potential downside to this system, and its success will depend greatly on how EA chooses to implement it.

The first and major hurdle they will have to overcome will be its price. The PDLC will be sold for about $10 or $15 through Xbox Live and PlayStation Network, but gamers who purchase them will still have to pay full price for the retail version. That essentially means that they will be paying twice for some of the same content. With the already steep price of games, this will be a big turnoff for many. Providing discounts for customers who buy both versions would have been a great incentive for buying the PDLC.

However, if you consider EA’s point of view, there is logic to the decision. You could debate that EA needs an additional charge because creating these demos will be expensive. Some companies choose not to release demos of their games because they take extra time and resources to make. Creating these premium demos will be substantially more expensive and EA is likely afraid they will lose money on the investment if they give refunds to those who buy the full game.

This is a legitimate argument, but if EA is worried about getting a return on their investment, an alternative could be to institute a membership system in which members pay an annual fee for unlimited access to all PDLC. This could provide a return on EA’s investment as well as encourage gamers to try as many EA titles as possible. A win-win scenario for both sides.

Another factor to consider is the release timing of the PDLC in relation to the retail versions. The amount of time between the two will greatly affect the nature of the PDLC. Regular demos will still be offered and if EA releases the premium demos alongside the standard ones, many gamers will be satisfied with simply playing the free demos and waiting for the packaged product.

However, it looks like EA is planning to make the premium demos available further in advance to use them as a beta test. This raises concerns about the stability of the PDLC and whether gamers will be paying to play a buggy product. There are too many quality gaming options out there to pay for a game with defects.

One more question to ask is if the PDLC will end up affecting the final versions of games. If there is a poor reception to the PDLC, EA could decide to scale back the amount of resources it commits to the game and fans could end up with less content or polish in the final product. This scenario is unlikely though, as it’s doubtful the PDLC would be released far enough in advance to allow for major alterations.

That being said, it’s not out of the realm of possibility that they could alter their development practices for games with PDLC. We already have problems with episodic gaming, where subsequent episodes are cancelled when the initial episodes disappoint.

As we haven’t received many details yet on how the system will work, this is all just speculation. There’s a lot of ways this could end up being a spectacular success or failure, or it may even end up being cancelled altogether.

EA has recently shown a willingness to experiment and innovate, and as one of the few companies large enough to try this with AAA titles, this has been a welcome mindset. Unfortunately, they haven’t seen much monetary success with this approach and it would be a shame to see them revert to a more archaic strategy. Hopefully EA makes the right decisions, but we’ll just have to wait and see.

When Avatar figuratively exploded onto the scene, many of us were taken aback by the re-introduction of decent 3-D effects in film. The exquisitely developed depth, glossy holograms, and delicious visuals quenched our appetites for a new form of visceral experience.

But in the usual, ridiculous overreaction by almost everybody in the media and general populace to what can almost definitely be defined as a fad, 3-D has re-emerged as the buzzword for the early part of this decade. Once again, content producers and hardware makers alike begin to rub their hands together with glee, as rabid tech nerds and people with too much money begin buying TVs in the hope that will will get to play Modern Warfare 2 with slightly more cohesion.

There are two types of product innovation – one that takes something that already exists and improves it, and the that other invents a technology and tries to find uses for it. James Cameron spent ten years developing a camera that could create the film he had wanted to make for years. Samsung and LG developed 3-D televisions because people seemed to like Avatar. Hmm.

Don’t get me wrong, innovation within our industry is integral to its future success and viability. But every 10 years or so the industry constantly finds avenues to push the same useless and expensive technologies (Virtual Reality, anyone?) that provide a very basic and almost frivolous purpose. 3-D is one of them.

The reason I even have an issue with 3-D at all relates to the same reason I have (albeit less) issues with motion control and the absolute obsession with HD graphics; games will cost more, be shorter, and take longer to develop. In the case of 3-D, a game will spend months and millions of dollars in post production to develop an effect that, frankly, gives you a headache after 15 minutes and requires that you stare almost intently at the middle of the screen.

About 6 months ago, before Avatar was released, I had the unfortunate experience of playing the game on a prototype 3-D TV. Headaches aside, it’s a mechanism that requires you to wear glasses and sit in a particular position to get the faint illusion of depth or, in reality, blurry and dark out of focus shapes that are excruciating to watch and even more irritating to play.

What happened to creating games with more intuitive gameplay? When did we start falling back into the leaky boat of stupid gimmicks? Back in the early 90s, Sega went broke creating useless and expensive add-ons to their consoles to provide the illusion of progress, but when people quickly realised that their Sega CD and 32x provided nothing extra besides a hole in their wallet, they started walking away from their products.

“But wait, James!” you might say, sitting forward in your computer chair. “None of the major players are focusing on 3-D right now, aren’t you jumping the gun?”.

I wish I was.

Nintendo recently leaked plans for a 3-D successor to the DS. Sony‘s already started wasting money on creating designer glasses and a new range of Bravias that they want you to pay thousands more to replace your perfectly awesome 50″ LED TV. Microsoft quickly ran out and spruked that the Xbox 360 is “fully capable of providing 3-D”.

It’s inevitable that within the next 3 years, the focus will have left the real innovation of how we genuinely interact with our games, only to be replaced by the ability to see Ekans dance across your screen (OMG ITS LIKE I CAN TOUCH HIM) in the next iteration of Pokemon.

It’s such a shame, too. While indie developers experiment with new, exciting, and inexpensive techniques for immersion by using already refined sound and video techniques, major technological innovators default to old and previously failed tech to squeeze even more money out of you instead of improving or augmenting what is already available.

Let’s take Natal. Natal takes existing technology and augments it at a fraction of the cost that nu-3D is asking. As a result, you’re offered a significantly more immersive experience with the entire body mapped and exploited; your voice and even the direction of your eyes and minute features are taken into account.

Still not convinced? What about the completely unexplored use of binaural recording? Through the exploitation of how your brain decodes sound, you can create virtual channels that make it seem like someone is stalking you from behind or even throwing objects at you from the front.

I’ll just go out and say it, if it hasn’t been clear enough already: 3-D is a fad. Television makers have been waiting for a success like Avatar to quickly seize a bewildered and excitable community with regrettable purchases. But maybe I’m giving the industry too much credit, after so many years of genuine improvements to video and audio clarity, physical interaction, and gameplay mechanics.

3-D is a 60-year-old misdirection on an epic scale from developers and hardware makers to actually innovate. It’s a distraction (like HD) from developing interesting, original and creative gameplay experiences. It’s a gimmick, and a particularly boring and unimaginative one at that. It exists simply – and only – to make money, not advance technology; although it seems everyone is keen to take a big long sip of Snake Oil.

If this monochromatic 3-D is really the future of gaming, I’ll eat my hat. Hell, I’ll even eat a pair of 3-D glasses for dessert, as long as I don’t have to actually use them first.

If I had to choose a game with a good story over one with good gameplay, I would pick the former.  There are infinite arguments over the merit of either (story or gameplay), but a good story gets the blood pumping in my brain – and my genitals.

So, when I discovered the Wii would feature the next Silent Hill game, my speculation raged. I assumed it would be another motion controlled fiasco that would further cement my distaste.  I was wrong.  Climax created an excellent entry into the series that proves motion controls can enhance narrative.

The jury is out on the game; we loved it, but the real draw here is the trail that Climax blazed with their combination of motion controls and storytelling. It’s the first time a Wii game was able to accurately allocate the controls to increase immersion and avoid being gimmicky.  Metroid Prime 3 comes close, but its controls are more a method to progress through the game, instead of being part of the storytelling.

The flashlight, cell phone, puzzles, escape techniques, conversations and much more are all directly linked to the motion controls.  Players aim the phone to take pictures.  The flashlight feels like an extension of the player’s hand. Conversations take place in first person, giving the player the ability to simulate not listening, or steal glances of exposed cleavage. Phone conversations happen through the Wii-mote’s speaker (Yes, No More Heroes did this too).

To their credit, Climax did a great job at writing a thoughtful and semi-sophisticated storyline to go along with the gameplay. However, it is enhanced exponentially with motion controls that transcend average button presses. You aren’t always watching Harry respond to pressing A or B.

Instead, you are sliding puzzles around or throwing monsters off your back. The input/output relationship between the player and machine is significantly more meaningful because of a deeper link in Harry’s actions.

It’s a wonderful experience that requires a certain suspension of disbelief.  The Wii’s hardware isn’t perfect – not every command is solid – and players degrade the controls by “waggling” through the game when it isn’t required. This is apparent in a swimming section of the game, where shaking the controller back and forth works just as well as the simulated swimming strokes.  However, it’s more exciting – and isolating – when the gamer plays along.

To further integrate the gameplay and narrative, Climax created a profiling system. It monitors the way the player interacts with the game, not just their explicit actions, and shapes the narrative landscape as a result.  If a player looks at the characters alcoholic drink while they are talking, it will register that interest.  If you zoom in on naughty pictures or call different numbers it will note those as well. These actions and choices affect the way that characters interact with you, the way they dress, and, ultimately, the ending.

But there are a few shortcomings. The Wii isn’t the system that will create a dark and foreboding environment, such as Silent Hill. It lacks the power to create immersion through imagery.  A player could be deeply entrenched in the game, only to be violently ripped out as Harry phases through a door. Climax pushed the Wii’s hardware to it’s limits in SH:SM, and it looks great for a Wii title; but, in doing so, they proved that the Wii is limited, and it isn’t enough.

This makes the upcoming cavalcade of motion controls revealed at 2009′s E3 more exciting.  If the Wii was able to pull off a thoughtful weaving of gameplay and narrative through motion controls, what can Sony and Microsoft do? If the mechanics visible in the Milo demo are any indication of Natal’s actual “power”, then the transition from gimmick to sincerity is only a clever developer away. For the record, motion controls will never substitute a well told story. Climax did a fantastic job of creating a compelling narrative and implementing motion controls as a boon, rather than a burden, and the future is looking bright for developers to continue that trend.

In an industry where hype is the rule rather than the exception, there is much joy to be found when a title slips under the radar and catches us unaware of  its quality and vision. Knowing that a sleeper hit can delight as much – or more – than the latest blockbuster release, it’s worth celebrating those titles from last year that arrived with little fanfare, but left with a bang.

In the information age, a game that is able to surprise us is a rare treasure indeed. Follow me over the jump to look at some of the games that defied our expectations, or blindsided us with win, in 2009!

3. Batman: Arkham Asylum

It may seem strange at first to categorize Batman: Arkham Asylum as a sleeper hit, given that it has sold nearly 3 million copies since its release in late August. Rocksteady’s brilliant homage to the Dark Knight is in practically every GOTY discussion and for good reason.

With a unique art style, and much of the voice talent from the animated series, Batman: AA did more than any previous Batman game has done to preserve the gritty, graphic novel feel of the caped crusader’s roots. Metroidvania-style level design and an intuitive but deep combat system made gameplay a joy for tacticians and casual button mashers alike. With a great mix of stealth and combat, the title did more than any previous attempt to capture the true look and feel of being the man behind the cowl.

Knowing what we know now, it’s tougher to call Batman: AA a surprise. However, if you think back to the summer doldrums, there was almost no hype surrounding the release. Expectations were chilly for the title, and the lousy track record for licensed superhero games certainly didn’t help the outlook.

Luckily, the latest incarnation of Bruce Wayne’s alter ego shook off the effects of the industry’s scarecrow fear gas, and delivered one of the strongest performances of the year. It’s no riddle why this title makes the list of pleasant surprises of ’09.

2. Red Faction : Guerrilla

Hindsight is 20/20. It’s tough now to see how a title with some of the most advanced environmental physics ever seen in a game engine could be so unknown. However, with a glut of anticipated open world titles released in ’09, such as Infamous and Prototype, it’s little wonder that Red Faction: Guerrilla showed up on the scene incognito.

As the reviews rolled in, the love that Volition put into crafting their destructible environments became quickly apparent. Despite taking criticism for everything from story to vehicle controls, the game was still scored universally high.

The ability to dynamically destroy a building, as opposed to relying on arbitrary damage limits and canned animation, may not seem like much on the surface. However, once the controller is in your hand and you’re charged with reducing a stronghold to rubble, the realistic physics make the challenge vastly more strategic and visceral.

A truly fun group of weapons ranging from the trusty sledgehammer (so satisfying) to the disintegrating awesomeness of the Nano Rifle made taking down structures one of the most satisfying gameplay experiences of the year. If you haven’t played it yet, check it out now so that when it becomes the standard for destructible environments you can say you saw where it all began.

1. Flower

For me, this game represents the most pleasant gaming surprise of the past year. Exclusively downloadable titles have been criminally under-marketed since their arrival on the scene. Despite the success of thatgamecompany’s freshman effort, Flow, very few outside of the indie game scene were experiencing true anticipation for Flower. It sure feels good to be sucker punched at times.

Maybe it was the digital distribution platform, or maybe it was the fact that Flower was thrown without its consent into the center of the ballyhooed “games as art” debate, but to this day, the gaming media often neglects to talk about just how much fun the game actually is.

What could have been dismissed as gimmicky motion controls became one of the finest examples of how Sixaxis can and should be implemented. The gorgeous visuals and elegantly minimalistic control scheme made this title accessible to both hardcore and casual markets. No matter what your skill level or engagement in gaming as a hobby, Flower brought “Zen gaming” into homes across the world.

Bold risk taking, masterful implementation, and a price suited for its length, all drive Flower into not only the best surprises of ’09 category, but also a place in the greatest bite-sized gaming experiences of recent years, along with Portal, Castle Crashers, and Braid. I am so glad that I went into Flower expecting nothing, because what I got delighted me that much more for it.

Honorable Mention

My honorable mention here has to go to Demon’s Souls. As one of the year’s best games (second only to Dragon Age on the RPG front), I would be remiss not to give a nod to this challenging and refreshing title from the minds of From Software. The reason it doesn’t make my top three biggest surprises of ’09 is that hardcore gamers from coast to coast were building buzz about the difficulty level of this game well before it arrived in the US, so it was squarely on my radar by the time it launched here.

I was pleasantly surprised by the fact that it did live up to all the hype prior to its release. It is incredibly fun, while at the same time demanding every ounce of my focus and skill in order to achieve success. I guarantee you that this will be the game that gets me through the lean summer months in 2010.

What about you all? What games blindsided you with win over the past year?

Tunneling under the mainstream radar, EVE Online has grown to become one of the most successful MMOs of the last decade. It’s been called the “smart person’s” MMO, “spreadsheets online”, and “where economists go to wind down”. But its status is one of conjecture amongst gamers – almost everyone has heard a story about EVE. Its sheer scope, range and possibility appeal to many, until they find themselves inside the universe and completely flustered.

EVE is unique within its genre in that the game is not run by the developer, but by the player. Its developers, CCP, simply set the stage and provide the tools. From there, a limited amount of NPC elements provide new players with some guidance and intermediate players with some challenge. But the real game lies deep within the central space of the universe where there are few rules, no guards and one of the most unforgiving, challenging and intense environments that gaming has ever seen.

I’ll start by noting that this feature has been written with the non-player in mind. This is purely an insight into a universe that is rarely uncovered for the uninitiated. Veterans may find nothing that they do not already know, and thus, this is no wiki and this is no report on the current events. You have been warned.

In essence, EVE is the MMO that gamers always claimed that we wanted. A world with limited restrictions, where the player is the master of his own destiny, where working hard and genuine skill, rather then simply time or attrition, are the keys to ultimate success. Many other games have promised, and failed, an offering a similar opportunity. Whether due to problems regarding balance, wild aspirations, or a failure to face a simple truth – in most cases, people like the idea of freedom, but actually prefer playing in a bubble – has not been delivered well.

Within EVE, the bubble is effectively non-existent. Many players who have grown up on the relatively linear adventures found in Everquest, Asherons Call, or World of Warcraft find themselves drifting through the dark, cold, and eerily silent current of space, with very little to go on. There are no bright flashing quest icons, no clear dirt pathways or obvious story and class transitions to follow. As a friend of mine noted after a few hours of tutorial play, “This game doesn’t seem to have a point.”

Prior experience necessary.

He was wrong, but his frustration isn’t unwarranted. While EVE does have a reasonably cohesive storyline that can eventually set you up with a tidy wad of starting cash and some skills to grow on, it fails to take you under its wing and nurture your ambitions. But the clever among the recruited will quickly realize the truth; there is no spoon. The initial missions are not setting you up to level to 80, because there are no levels. Your starting wad of cash will not eventually buy you a mount, because you’re already sitting on one.

As a result, new players are forced to shed any previous conceptions of how they should play, and are pushed to think a little more laterally. Do you want to be a hero? How about a mercenary? What about a trader, miner, pirate, smuggler, manufacturer, leader or fleet commander? Since EVE is a single universe, the entire player pool of over 300,000 people (around 40,000 online at any given time) are pushed onto a single, contestable plane. There are no more instances and no death without penalty. Nothing is free and trust only extends as far as your ability to bluff.

EVE throws away a number of RPG stalwart conventions that many players are used to. As previously mentioned, there are no levels. Outside of the advantage of sheer time and money, players fight on an almost completely level playing field from the get go. Within a month, a new player could be piloting one of the best ships in the game, and their success only limited to their own ability to excel. Skillbooks are purchased from NPCs and take real world time to “learn”. As a result, one does not need to grind or even be logged into the game to earn the “right” to do something. The skills are simply the vessel that enable you to actually play.

For example, if I wanted to pilot a battlecruiser, I would need to purchase a series of skillbooks and then schedule my learning. As a result, it may take three real world weeks before I was able to even sit in the pilot’s seat. But at the same time, I still need to earn the money to purchase the books, ship, missile systems and so forth – so I would need to start small and work my way up.

Be exactly who you want to be.

By now, I’ve probably already got some readers wondering “why?”. Well, just like it would take a few months to get to level 80 in WoW, it takes time to reach some of the more advanced ships in EVE. But even before I get to this point, it would only take a week or two to get my hands on something just as fun to pilot, so I could undertake missions via NPCs or within a corporation to earn some cash.

Corporations are what make EVE so alluring. They are the player run “Guilds” that control almost every element of life within the universe. Corporations build the ships you buy, harvest and refine the minerals that build those ships, or provide the protection for the miners that carve out the asteroids. Corporations and alliances of corporations can actively control and police large wafts of “sovereign” space. So if you aren’t careful, you may find yourself wandering into the middle of a turf war.

There are corporations that actively promote and enforce piracy. Others make a habit of smuggling goods through dangerous or out-of-bounds areas of space. Essentially, if there is a market for a particular service, there will be corporations created with the specific aim of providing that service. To make matters even more complicated, corps have intricate internal systems as well, such as offices in space stations to hold their items or recruit new players, and even tax rates to make purchases on behalf of their members.

So while you *can* play solo in EVE, it’s almost a requirement that you join a corporation. Good ones will teach you the ropes, provide you with seed capital or equipment that you need. Take you out to complete missions or to complete paid work for other corporations. Through time, you will gain more money, abilities, equipment and a much larger understanding of game mechanics. EVE is almost like a true capitalist simulator: the aim is not to save the world, but to make money and gain power.

As a result, EVE features a “true” market based system. Everything from the raw ore ripped out of an asteroid field, to the missile launcher you attach to your fighter, has been mined, crafted or acquisitioned by a player. With the minor exception of a few items (such as NPC mission bonuses and skill books), the market relies almost completely on a system of supply and demand. If a certain mineral, for example, can only be found in a rough area, then its value is matched by its extraordinarily high price.

Commitment to the game is almost compulsory. Just like WoW, most corporations require the same, if not much more, dedication to the cause. While smaller corporations are little more then loose groups of like minded players having fun, some of the larger alliances (groups of corporations) are so sophisticated that they have dedicated groups of people assigned to tasks, like logistics and intelligence. Yes, that’s intelligence involving spies and recon, both within the confines of the game client and out.

Welcome to meta-game.

Nul space, or “nulsec”/”0.0″ security space, is the equivalent of “end game” in other MMOs. There is absolutely no protection. The game, largely, is left up to the players, who provide the tools to conquer the galaxy and control it. Stumbling into nul space is an exercise in futility. It’s likely you will be blown out of the sky without warning. Once you realize the circumstances, the politics and the terms of control, you will be shocked at the sheer depth of the player grown universe.

>Case in point, The downfall of Band of Brothers (BoB). BoB was arguably the most powerful alliance cum megacorp in EVE, controlling a significant amount of nul space along with a significant sum of in-game assets. Locked into a battle with Goonswarm, a similarly massive alliance with both game related and personal issues towards BoB. The two alliances, along with their partners, spent most of their time trying to take each other down.

Organisations as large as these two megacorps, which consist of thousands of players, need almost authoritarian control. As a result, both had developed the most complicated, efficient and secure systems of operation. Multiple levels of command, structured purely by strangers in locked forums and secure in-game channels and other “off-game” communication, were so tight that it was next to impossible to know what was going on within these corporations from the outside.

As a result, people were recruited to befriend senior leaders, both in and out of game, or join the alliance as a sleeper agent. These “spies” would leak “intel”, whether it be future expansion plans, fleet movements, logistics routes and so forth. It may sound extreme, but this is all part of the game. Like any situation that involves conquest, knowing what your enemies’ next moves are is imperative to victory.

A senior member of BoB, allegedly, became upset with the infighting and decision making within the alliance and decided to pull one of the biggest sweeps in MMO history. Taking with him passwords and command authority, he effectively orchestrated a shutdown of the entire alliance with GoonSwarm (GS), which in turn deactivated the control mechanisms that kept the alliance’s hold over its sovereign space. As a result, billions of in-game money was lost, assets destroyed, while others were transferred to GS.

This isn’t the only game event that could “only” happen within EVE. Another player effectively ripped off billions of in-game credits by exploiting the game’s insurance system, while other players have used their own social phishing skills to dupe players out of assets by exploiting their greed, naivety and honesty. The possibilities for changing the game for all players are endless.

Hang in there buddy.

But let’s be brutally honest. This game is hard. In fact, it’s ridiculously hard. I can’t stress how brutal the insane learning curve is to new players, and while the player base is very intelligent, friendly and helpful, the game usually isn’t. The interface is, at first glance, frustratingly cluttered, and navigating the various elements of space, ship controls, skill trees, marketplaces and universe maps is something that many players are likely to scream and run from, but I digress.

You need to stick it out. Because underneath the charts, maps and stats, there is an absolutely epic gaming universe begging you to become a part of it. The interface takes only a few days to get used to, and a little bit of reading via the in-game help and some amazing off-game wikis will explain the bulk of absolutely anything that confuses you. The play is addictive once you become enthralled, and once you realize that your refined skills are *needed*, you will understand the power of this game.

For once, you truly are an individual. You are an important part of the gamepace. You can be who you want and do almost anything you want. Freedom, dear player, is what EVE ultimately provides. Every minute that you pump into this game actually matters in the long run, but you’ve got to decide whether you want to stick around for the long haul. Just like life itself, EVE is unforgiving, but there are rewards for taking risks.

Like the sea of fellow gamers out there who have been brought up with the Super Nintendo and  Sega Genesis, we’re all familiar with frustrating less-than-16bit games. We’re also on the same page in regards to arcade games like Pac-Man, where players will often find themselves in an endless abyss of a never-ending quest, usually without any narrative to tell us why we’re supposed to be eating white pixels.

Upon fast forwarding two decades, it’s strange how some of us have been accustomed to Kojima-san’s Metal Gear antics, or Square Enix’s ability to tell a poignant tale of cliché love and redemption. Maybe it’s just me, but this assimilation to the world of video game storytelling has had me convinced for a good decade. It must be said: games without storylines suck.

Of course this opinion is divisive, considering a good portion of gamers out there really couldn’t care less about some pixelated hero’s journey to Nirvana. That’s fine. I too understand your need to pump two full clips into a Nazi’s cranium, your utmost desire to become the second coming of Jimmy Hendrix, and your insatiable need to speed down the walkways of Times Square, just to hear the thuds of helpless human bodies against the car you just hijacked.

But seriously, to me, a storyline gives you a purpose; it’s an incentive to be in the world that you’re playing. Without a good storyline (note: superfluous storylines also suck), games that should be story-driven lose its appeal. There would be no sense of immersion, no sense of epic escapism or identified interactivity with the hero that’s in your console.

I treat games like films; to me, it makes sense to treat it as a medium that allows one to escape from a dull Monday. Without a narrative, a video game feels like it’s lost its personality. Maybe it’s just me.

Plain and simple, being politically right’n’respectful regarding heralded games would suck the life out of this article’s Tree of Life. So I’ll say it once, to the dismay of a certain fellow Aussie with a name that rhymes with Byron Cones: Killzone 2 sucks. Guerrilla Games’ finest hour seems to have been my dullest this year, despite the waves of rave reviews.

Airing out Killzone isn’t the aim of this piece of editorial epiphany, as there are countless other games out there that have been put on an undeserving pedestal, but the proof is indeed in the tasteless pudding. There’s little sense of characterisation, objectives seem to range from shooting a piece of plank to a Helghast’s helmet, and what’s up with the main hero Sev being a mute while controlling him, but a loud mouth when it’s cutscene time?

Maybe I’m just nitpicking the not-so-small details, maybe I just don’t get sci-fi shooters, but the point still stands: Killzone 2 is an average shooter that looks good. Because of the absence of a good storyline, the game lacks a personality and ultimately fails to develop a connection between the game’s characters and the gamers themselves. Again, maybe it’s just me.

I want to be able to involve myself in video games, pretending that my actions matter, and above all, care about my actions and the repercussions it has in them. Many developers tend to forget that without an established protagonist with a strong character back log, gamers will rarely relate to the characters they’ll be playing for the next 10 to 15 hours.

Personally, I’ll feel like I’ve wasted those hours if I can’t take the experience with me after it’s long gone. I want my actions to matter in a game, just as I feel the need to ‘care’ for the supporting cast of the game. I play video games to escape from a hard day’s work, and to be able to convince myself that gunning down just one more goon won’t waste my time. Storylines tend to do that; they tend to suspend your belief system, give you one or two moments you won’t forget anytime soon, and above all make you care about lifeless objects.

There are developers out there who need to re-think and re-prioritize the way they look at video games in the 21^st century. Giving us objectives from A to B is fine, but without a justified purpose via a storyline, what significance do these objectives hold? What difference is Pac-Man’s eat Blob 1 then Blob 2 to tackling objectives A then B if there’s no narrative?

An old primary school teacher used to tell me, “Don’t let your English get sloppy. Pay attention to the details.” Visuals, set pieces, and the environment can only tell you half the story – the other half needs to be told by the narrator. Certain developers do need to pay attention to the details, and let the players submerge in their world.

Once again, all this talk is coming from a gamer who wants his money’s worth paid in memorable moments, not just because he wants to “screw around in the game for the lulz.” I’m all for the running-and-gunning, just as long as there’s a good reason as to why we’re doing it.

Like I said, I’ve been assimilated and I’ve been conditioned to believe that applaud-worthy storytelling is the next step within gaming’s progression. Its importance may vary from gamer to gamer, but the significance it carries should be unquestioned.

It adds another layer to immersion. It gives players a sense of emotional attachment to fictional characters, creates an incentive to delve further into its universe, and above all, crafts us personalised moments that make the perilous trek worthwhile. After all, shouldn’t that be the aim for all credible mediums? But hey, then again, it might just be me.

It was recently revealed that Sony would be allowing a bit of a different approach to trophies for Quantic Dream’s Heavy Rain. Rather than bestowing trophies upon the player as he performs certain actions or passes certain milestones, they would instead be withheld until the end of each chapter, so as not to interrupt the gameplay.

Sounds like a pretty simple, inconsequential idea, right? The repercussions of this sort of approach might be even greater than you think, potentially going as far as fixing what many dislike about achievements/trophies altogether – if other studios get on-board. Read on to see how the world of gamerscores and trophy collections could soon be turned on its head.

I’m a person who has never had a huge problem with achievements (I’m going to use “achievements” from here on, because the gaming world still lacks an all-encompassing term). Sure, there are plenty of people out there who are way too concerned with getting every little achievement and proudly displaying their collections, and certain achievements can be just ridiculous (any given JRPG, I’m looking at you). But on the whole, they add to games rather than detracting from them.

There are some notable exceptions to this, however. Firstly, if you’re a person who believes highly in immersion, then you’ll recognize the power of achievement notifications to very quickly take you out of the game’s experience. Nothing’s worse than reveling in your triumph over an especially difficult boss only to have a little window pop up over the ensuing cutscene. “Oh really, game? I just beat the boss? I had no idea!”

There’s also the problem of screwing with natural story progression. I’m guilty of peeking at a game’s achievements before or while I play, hoping to get as much out of the experience as I can. “Is there some optional side quest that I should be aware of?” “Should I make choice A or choice B?” “Should I shoot potted plants for no apparent reason?” But worst of all, I’ve sometimes asked myself, “Should I alter the way that I play through the story in order to get certain achievements?”

If implemented properly, Quantic Dream’s idea could go a long way toward solving both of these problems. The development team specifically mentioned the desire to avoid breaking tension in an effort to preserve the player’s mood throughout a sequence. While immersion isn’t mentioned by name here, that seems to be the idea. If you want to keep the player in the moment, don’t throw a chime and a pop-up into a pivotal scene.

But what isn’t mentioned by Quantic Dream is how this might significantly change the experience for players, not only in what they see but in how they play. The mere presence of achievement notifications in a game is something that often becomes hard to resist: like Pringles, once you pop, you just can’t stop. You gain an achievement for befriending one character and suddenly you want to become best buddies with everyone in the game. Before you know it, you’re focused more on raising affection levels than actually playing through the plot.

Even worse is when you have a story with branching paths, as each path has a specific set of achievements associated with it that can only be earned by taking specific actions. Here, you might get to a certain point in the game, realize that you’ve gotten yourself on a path that will make you miss some major achievements, and start over. This can’t be what any development team intends.

By keeping the achievements out of the actual game experience, a lot of this could be avoided. If you’re not shown a bunch of achievements right from the start, then you won’t be tempted by those shiny trophies and that all-too-soothing sound.

Hell, if you ask me, trophies should be withheld from certain games until the credits roll. Then, it’s all about doing what you think you should do during the actual experience, and seeing your results afterward without being influenced by what you think the game wants you to do. This is how we played games for years upon years.

Sure, people are still going to look online at achievement lists, and despite the fact that many developers now make their story-related achievements “hidden,” they can easily be found in a quick Google search. And, honestly, I’m sure that I’ll still approach games, to some extent, with the intention of experiencing all of the content that I can, and if this means making a shot at all of the achievements, then so be it.

But I’ll definitely complete a first run of Heavy Rain without so much as a glimpse at the trophies, and I think the idea of keeping achievements out of your actual playtime is a wonderful idea for truly story-driven games. While it may not make everyone love achievements and trophies overnight, it will go a long way toward making them a less obtrusive part of an immersive experience.

So, is Quantic Dream’s approach to trophies something that more games should follow, or will you be jonesing for the ding sound?

Ladders have existed since long before the written word — evidence from Mesolithic rock paintings suggests that the ladder has been used for at least 10,000 years. This is a long time to further develop and perfect such a common and useful invention, yet, from most accounts, ladders haven’t changed much in their history. Sure, minor improvements have been made such as the A-frame, but the basic design of the ladder is one that doesn’t demand a lot of improvement.

The video game ladder has seen a similar lack of innovation, and although resolution has increased and bloom has made those metal rungs look just so very pretty, not much has changed for this pixel-infused climbing device.

The problem with the videogame ladder is that, while real world ladders are simple and intuitive, video game ladders are horrible mockeries of usability. What went wrong? How have videogame ladders become so tragically separated from their real-world counterparts?

Though it may not have been the first use of ladders in videogames, most minds will wander to Donkey Kong when considering early ladder use. After all, without ladders, Donkey Kong would be nothing more than a game about jumping over barrels for hours at a time. Aside from Steve Wiebe, no one would play this game.

And, for the most part, these ladders did their job by allowing you to climb from one vertical position to another. Sure, the occasional damaged ladder might impede your progress, but even this, for the most part, makes sense; try climbing a broken ladder in the real world and an important lesson will hit you like a barrel to the face.

Ladders became even more simplified for The Legend of Zelda, though their status as a ladder is somewhat dubious. In essence, the ladder was an obtainable item that Link carried around with him at all times, deploying it when he needed to cross small gaps in the floor. Now, I suppose ladders can be used for horizontal movement, but why not use a damn plank? Or, you know, jump?

Regardless, this example stands as one of the better uses of video game ladders in games despite its lack of realism. Being fully automated, there’s little to no chance of the ladder becoming an undue source of frustration. Furthermore, it actually performs its intended function — something that seems obvious, but as we’ll soon see, doesn’t always happen.

Two-dimensional ascension in a three-dimensional world is what seems to have made ladders tricky. If you’ve played Half-Life, then you know the terror of three-dimensional ladder traversal.

Basically, many games, especially those with a first-person perspective, seem to have trouble anticipating exactly what the player is trying to do when he or she is in front of a ladder. Do you want to use the ladder or walk by it? Do you want to go up or down? Do you want to descend the ladder or release your grip on it?

Seriously, if you played through every Half-Life game without a single ladder blunder, then you’re a fucking champion.

The issue is that the controls used by the player to move horizontally in the world are suddenly changed to make him move vertically, and not always with predictable results. In a two-dimensional world, pressing up should make you go up. In a three-dimensional world, up means forward, and vertical movement is made possible through button presses.

Sounds simple, right? Not when ladders are involved. See, Half-Life doesn’t think vertical movement should be as easy as pressing up. Instead, they want you to press up and look up at the same time. What, walking straight at a ladder wasn’t enough to tell you that I wanted to use it?

Going down is far, far worse. See, you must look down and press down at the same time. But there’s a threshold. Move backward too far and your silent, bespectacled protagonist will eschew the ladder altogether and choose to plummet to his death. Trying to approach the ladder from the wrong direction is similarly a recipe for disaster.

But surely time has fixed these problems, right? On the contrary, new problems have arisen. Take the recent Assassin’s Creed II, for instance. On the surface, ladders seem clear-cut. Approach a ladder from the top, and you’ll grab onto it and begin to descend. Hallelujah!

But those ladders that lean against buildings at precarious angles present a brand new challenge: horizontal movement. Yes, horizontal movement on a vertical ladder.

If you’re screaming “this makes no sense!” then you’re right. But, for some reason, the developers decided to allow players to swing around to the opposite side of the ladder.

This makes no sense.

For one, I know that Ezio is pretty much a climbing prodigy, but even he should know that climbing on the wrong side of a leaning ladder isn’t quite safe. Why would he want to do this when there’s a perfectly safe side of the ladder to climb on? Even worse, the ladder is leaning on something. What do you think is going to happen when you get to (or more accurately, fail to get to) the top?

But the main problem is that Ezio will swing to the other side of the ladder if you happen to have the camera pointed in a certain direction. In the world of Assassin’s Creed, the directions of up and down are dictated not by gravity, but by the electric eye that provides the player’s point of view. So, let’s say that the camera is pointed at an awkward angle relative to Ezio, and you want to go up. Nope. You’ll be making a swift trip to the useless side of the ladder.

It’s also interesting to note how many of these problems were present in 2003′s Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time. The game, like Assassin’s Creed II, was praised for its movement mechanics with one glaring exception: ladders. Swinging from one side of the ladder to another was a constant source of frustration for many players, and, on top of this, ladders were a source of many game glitches. It seems the more things don’t change, the more they stay the same. Who would have guessed?

There are plenty of other examples of ladder implementation in games, both good and bad. There’s the incredibly slow movement that some games reduce the player character to. There’s the confusion that games have about whether you actually want to get on a ladder or not. The fact is that something simple has been made far too complex. Navigating a ladder should not be a source of frustration in games. So, how do we fix ladders?

First off, don’t make the player alter the point of view to go up or down. In first-person shooters, this means allowing a player to climb up without looking up, and vice-versa. In third-person games, this means ensuring that up is always up despite where the camera is pointed relative to the main character.

Secondly, getting on and off a ladder should not be comparable to playing Russian roulette with a meth addict. If necessary, make the player press a button at the base of a ladder to get on it. Sure, this may be an added step that appears to go against the code of simplicity, but if it means the difference between a swift descent and walking back and forth for three minutes before the jackass decides to grab onto the ladder, then I’ll take the ladder. I mean latter.

And, honestly, forget about horizontal movement when on a ladder. I don’t want to fall off of the ladder. I have never in a game wanted to fall off of a ladder, especially not off of the side of one. Nor do I need to know the thrill of climbing on the wrong side of the ladder. I will spoil it for you now – it looks the same, only a little bit more upside-down.

And, finally, there’s no reason that my character needs to climb like an arthritic drunk on a week-long Ritalin binge. I’m trying to save the world, dammit, and you’re taking your jolly sweet time, making sure that your foot lands just perfectly on that next rung. Give us the choice to climb quickly or slowly, and sliding down the ladder is always a nice option to have.

These requests are simple, and they need to be followed closely in the future. Otherwise, I’ll take a page from WWE games and start using the ladder for its often-overlooked second purpose: a weapon.

Not long ago, we had a discussion about difficulty within games on the Limit Cast, and, as often happens with this kind of discussion, my mind carried on ticking over long after the podcast had finished.

The subject is still wide enough that we may go back to it on the podcast one day, but until then, allow me to regale you with the bizarre workings of my mind as I discuss more areas relating to difficulty in games, and how that can affect your gaming experience.

It seems these days that the hardest choice in a game is the first one you are asked to make. The difficulty.

Are you at the bottom of the ladder, playing at easy? Super Easy? Rookie? Beginner? Are you punching above your weight by playing at hardcore? Legendary? Insanity? Somehow, you’re expected to know how hard the game is before you’ve revved your first engine, or fired your first bullet.

Recent years have seen a new tactic in games such as Need for Speed: Shift and Call of Duty: Modern Warfare. The first level acts as a skill barometer, testing what level it deems you fit to compete at. But is that really fair?

The first time you fire up a new game, of course you’re going to be rusty as you pick up the controls. It’s rare in these situations that people actually stick to what they have been given, and instead alter it to the setting they think they should be playing at.

Perhaps the future is in dynamic difficulty. Wonderful buzz words aside, this means that the game adjusts itself to your performance. Left 4 Dead‘s director is a great example of this, staging a variety of action and an increment of difficulty depending on how well the survivors are doing. It seems a perfect example, except for one glaring oversight. You still have a selection of difficulties, and as such the director merely works in parameters of each setting.

A better example comes in the form of the plastic instrument-friendly Guitar Hero 5. The game comes equipped with a unique ‘momentum’ mode, starting you out at the lower difficulties and boosting you up to higher peaks of gaming challenges as you perform well, or knocking you down a peg when you fail.

Then again, when looking at the topic of difficulty in games, it does almost beg the question, “Is a difficulty setting needed?”

Many games pave the straight and narrow with a slight learning curve, and offer an extra challenge for those who want to go off the beaten path. Burnout: Revenge allowed the player to progress through each stage of challenges by earning stars. Why, even a casual gamer could do that. The hardcore challenges lay in getting that bright and shiny status symbol of five stars, no matter how tricky the level got. Likewise, in JRPGs, the hardest parts are there for the players to discover as they lose themselves in the world. Anyone who has sought the GF Eden in Final Fantasy 8 can attest to that, I’m sure.

Whilst that may work in a RPG, with the freedom to allow the player to explore the world and find the challenges dotted around, not all games can afford that luxury. For those that can’t rely on exploration, some have already been using a great tool to enhance the gaming experience with various levels of intricacy, without having to turn the dial up to 11.

Achievements. I will admit that sometimes these are used horrendously, and when I see a title offering me a gamerscore-boosting glory by simply using every special move with every character in every level, I start to cry. When I see an achievement asking for the 100% collection of every item in the game, frankly, I’d rather go and make myself a sandwich.

This isn’t the case with every achievement, I am glad to say; some genuinely enhance the game they have been crammed into.

Take a look at Mirror’s Edge‘s “Test of Faith”, in which you must complete the game without shooting an enemy, or Bioshock‘s “Brass Balls”, where you must complete the game on hard mode without using a vita-chamber. Then there’s the down right ludicrous “Little Rocket Man” of Half Life 2, which will see you carrying a plucky garden gnome across your Earth-saving escapades.

Each one of these, and I’m sure there are many more out there, add a layer to the game by making you play games in the same crazy way that I’m sure we all used to do growing up. We put these restrictions upon ourselves not because we had to, but because it added another layer to the game. To me, that is where the distinction of difficulty needs to be. A game must be open to all, but let us get a little bit crazy some times.

Technology is a relentless beast, careening forward at breakneck speeds. Hell, when I first activated my iPhone, I immediately received a text message from Apple letting me know that there was a new model coming out later that afternoon.

Gamers know this all too well. Particularly when it comes to software, we find ourselves drenched by a constant deluge of new titles. Even an enthusiast, with nothing but time to play games, cannot play all of the latest and greatest that our favorite hobby has to offer.

Combine the overabundance of new releases with the eternal need to “keep up with the Joneses”, and you have a recipe for constant pressure to leave games unfinished. Players are constantly quitting games before reaching the end, simply to be able to say that they experienced the next big thing.

How has this trend influenced the course of game development? Follow me over the jump to explore how game resolutions continue to be one of the medium’s greatest failings and opportunities.

I’m not a completionist by definition, but I am very adamant about seeing games through to the end. The cranky old man in me wants to chastise these capricious gamers who leave their plates half-full; Don’t they know that there are bored gamers in developing countries who would kill for the gameplay hours they’re wasting?

While it pains me to admit it, I really can’t mount a compelling argument against gamers who don’t finish what they started. As a player who has to see things through to the bitter end, I can say with certainty that they’re really not missing out. The ending to 95% of the games out there are unfulfilling, terribly executed, or simply non-existent.

When it comes to bad video game endings, I clearly remember my first close encounter of the truly disappointing kind. I’ve never been the best player of shmups, but I faithfully sank hour after hour into beating the 1984 NES release of the arcade port of 1942.

After working furiously for weeks to master 32 torturous levels of bullet hell, I finally conquered my foe. Ecstatic from victory, I waited to be regaled as the victorious hero. Imagine my frustration as a nine-year-old boy when, after all that effort, I was greeted with a black screen where a single word appeared.

In the arcade era of gaming, it made sense to focus design on keeping players from finishing a game, in order to maximize the number of quarters that gamers were feeding the machines. But, jump forward in time 25 years to the console age, and, sadly, very little has changed. Games continue to lack the payoff that players crave for their efforts. Even games tailor-made for storytelling regularly fall short.

Obsidian, the developers for KotOR II, got handed a fish-in-a-barrel style opportunity. They had an IP rich in story, and a fine example to follow in Bioware’s critically acclaimed Knights of the Old Republic.

Despite receiving good reviews, the game’s ending was widely panned for being incomplete and rushed. So much so, that gamers took it upon themselves to fix the ending to KotOR II to their satisfaction. If you doubt that game endings are truly important to gamers, I encourage you to google The Sith Restoration Project.

With the proliferation of XBL, PSN, and Steam, tracking progress and achievements has become much easier. Developers now have more data than ever available to analyze how gamers are playing through their titles. After the release of Half-Life 2: Episode One, Valve ran some numbers and determined that only 50% of players even reached the final level of the game. This statistic is very telling, given that HL 2: Ep. One averaged around only 4 hours to complete.

Game studios, armed with this knowledge, now feel freer than ever to play fast and loose with their development cycle. If a huge portion of your audience isn’t playing the ending, a fully fleshed out and satisfying resolution to your product can rapidly drop down your priority list as you progress into crunch time. From a financial standpoint, it’s hard to blame the industry for frontloading their titles.

Chicken or egg time: did developers continue to ignore crafting solid endings because gamers don’t play through to completion? Or, did gamers stop playing a title to the end because they learned, over time, that only disappointment awaited them?

It’s my contention that the latter argument is more true. In discussing this topic with other gamers, the argument arose that the lack of solid endings is really just a subset of the overall lack of well-implemented storytelling in games.

Sure, storytelling overall needs more TLC from game developers, but even this point doesn’t account for the massive amount of fail present in the back-end of countless games. Even a revolutionary title like Bioshock, which has done more to push forward storytelling in the FPS genre than any game in recent years, fell short in its resolution. The experience was mind blowing, but in the end, 2K Boston still left the money on the nightstand and snuck out the back door.

Gamer feedback is overwhelmingly positive when a developer goes above the (perceived) call of duty to give the total package to their audiences. Even though they are the exception to the rule, there are a handful of games that stand out.

Persona 4 is a wonderful example of craftsmanship in game resolution. Regardless of which ending the player achieves, the level of closure present in the storytelling is phenomenal. The player can visit with each of the characters they’ve grown close to over the course of roughly 80 hours of playtime, sharing final thoughts and expressions of sentiment.

In my youth I moved around a great deal, and had to periodically say goodbye to friends and acquaintances I had grown fond of. Persona 4 captured this emotion perfectly, and the feeling that I had upon finally leaving Inaba is one of the things that immediately comes to mind when I think about the game today. That’s an important component of a gaming experience. The greats in any medium are mainly defined by the degree of feeling we experience when recalling them.

More recently, Dragon Age: Origins is another title that illustrates the strength of this approach. It is similar to Persona 4 in that the player gets to interact with all the major characters from the story and commiserate about how their journey has impacted them.

After this, the game concludes by informing the player about how their actions have shaped the world they travelled in. Every major plot point is explored, providing insight into the new direction that the land of Ferelden has taken since the gamer left their mark on it.

This sense of a persistent world even after you’ve turned off the game is powerful. It keeps the story alive in the gamer’s mind, and also encourages multiple playthroughs. With rampant complaints about how the used-game market negatively impacts developer profits, including satisfying resolutions that entice the player to revisit the game, is a useful method for convincing gamers to hold on to their purchases for longer.

The importance of strong game resolutions is most apparent in the RPG genre, but it is worthwhile to note that nearly every genre of video game stands to benefit from an increased focus by developers in this area.

A great ending promotes a higher level of gamer affection and loyalty. A great ending reduces the impact of the used-game market on profits. A great ending creates consumer demand for sequels, and an increased likelihood that gamers will take a chance on new IPs from the same developer.

But most of all, a great ending…

All of the furor over LFD2‘s censorship in Australia has caused a righteous uproar, both domestically and internationally. Since it seems that Australia has begun to take over China and Germany as the king hate-state of video game hatred, let’s get some facts straight.

Australia’s OFLC ratings board, who are mandated under law to provide a rating for every single film, and game, released in this country, are provided with inconsistent and outdated guidelines. There is no R-rating for games, so titles, even those with excessive language, violence, and sex, are squeezed into an inappropriate classification.

Not a day goes by that I don’t read a blog or a news post that makes blanket statements or groups Australia with other regions that regularly censor content. This is not the case. I’m not by any means defending our system; it’s deeply flawed and in need of change, and I’ll explain how and why.

As I mentioned in an earlier editorial, the game classification system in Australia is heavily based around existing film and television guidelines. When computer games were introduced to the rating system in the mid-nineties, very little was changed from existing guidelines to fully understand the nature of interactive entertainment. An R-rating was omitted completely, namely due to the fact that the government (wrongly) assumed that games would never mature enough to a point that would require them to be blocked from the hands of children.

The top rating that remained, MA15+, does have a set of “guidelines” that can, and are, interpreted subjectively by the members of the ratings board.  These guidelines are supposed to represent a “cap” on extreme content that is deemed suitable for a 15-year-old to consume. Thus, there are certain pet hates that are contained in certain titles that seem to push the board into a rapid spin in which they very rarely come out rational.

The first is drug use. Drugs, like in any other nation, are a contentious issue. When you’re dealing with teenagers, any indication that drug use is cool, or fun, or generally induced without repercussion, is deeply unpopular with governments. Thus, any references to real world drugs are fine, as long as their use does not “enhance” the player. This was Fallout 3‘s original mistake, and the simple change of a few names warranted a pass through (namely morphine).

The second is what’s called “high impact violence” or HIV. Violence, generally, isn’t too much of a problem. It’s why you can mow down civvies in MW2, blow heads off beasties in Gears of War 2, and chainsaw people into pieces in Mad World. In fact, the large majority of titles breeze through an MA15+ rating. What turns heads is when things get messy. Lopping off the heads of real people (not zombies), intense wound detail – like intestines slopping out, or intense, graphic, slicing and dicing.

This is a topic that actually tends to split the board in a few cases. In the cases of  (the ultimately RC’d, or “Refused Classification”) Dark Sector and Left 4 Dead 2, there were minorities that disagreed with the label of HIV and claimed that there were no differences between the violence in these titles and others that had passed the ratings board previously.

That point is an important one. There is no “case law” when it comes to ratings board decisions. Games that have excessive violence, yet still gain an MA15+ classification, aren’t used as examples in future decisions. Each title is reviewed on a fresh base, which can serve up completely different, and often surprising, decisions. L4D2 isn’t really much worse then L4D1, but the original was not used in comparison, thus the sequel was banned and Australians were served a neutered experience.

The third is, well, random. Games can be refused classification for almost any silly reason they want. Promotes crime through graffiti? Banned. Marc Ecko’s Getting Up: Contents Under Pressure was banned in 2006 because the review board claimed it promoted graffiti as a positive solution to repression. The key seems to be that if games promote criminal elements in a positive way, and reward without repercussion, it’s deemed as inappropriate.

When it comes down to it, the ratings board are only working within the guidelines and ruleset that they are given by the legislation. The law says that the classified games need to be suitable for 15-year-olds, so excessive violence, drug use, and positive depictions of crime are generally, and rightfully, frowned upon. The point of the system is to create a line in the sand, but that line, after being blurred for so many years, has finally become solid.

In most cases, the board are passing games that are grossly inappropriate for children to play, because it’s the only way that the large majority of mature themed games would be published. The lack of an R-rating is hurting not only adults, who are rightfully angry to be dictated to, but also to clueless parents who are trying to find suitable games for their children to play.

We need an R-rating because some games are created, from the original intention, for adult gamers. Not children, not teenagers, but adults. The population of the country understands this – most opinion polls put acceptance for an R-rating in the mid-80 percents. The industry understands this. In fact, most politicians understand this; of the nine Attorney-Generals representing Australia’s states and territories, eight of them agree in principle to a change. Except for one.

Michael Atkinson M.P, from South Australia, is the only vocal opposition to this change. His case is uninformed, confused, and generally ignorant. He thinks he is “protecting the children and the public”, when really he is making conscious decisions on the freedoms and rights of people he doesn’t even represent. He is the only barrier to the introduction of a new rating that almost every single other country, including our closest neighbour, New Zealand, already has.

But, the sands are shifting. Gamers are becoming proactive. Petitions to state parliament, public protests, political parties, and numerous campaigns are but a few of the efforts Australians are making to change the conditions that restrict our choices.

It’s easier to recycle an old idea than to create something original.  Musicians know this.  Authors know this.  Game developers certainly know this.

Video gaming has now reached a point where the early (and even the not-so-early) games can be looked back upon with a sense of nostalgia – a longing for the good old days of the Golden Age of Gaming.  Pac-Man, Pong, Galaxian, Frogger, Tempest… these games were marching the front lines of innovation in an unestablished, and almost comically different, industry.

Wistful game geeks today have an average age of 29; they recall their early gaming days with a fondness usually reserved for first loves or lost pets.  Leave it to game companies to take advantage of our doe-eyed sentimentality by selling us things we’ve already bought.

The increasingly popular downloadable platforms, like Xbox Live Arcade and the PlayStation Network, have been the perfect breeding ground for the “retro revival”, an update, or a straight-up rehash of a classic title that is guaranteed to sell based on pedigree alone.  8- and 16-bit games are now far too small to justify the incredible storage capacity of DVDs, or (gasp!) Blu-ray discs, so developers and publishers turn to digital distribution – the perfect spot for what are now considered bite-sized games.

Some developers simply port one of their old games from the 80s or 90s.  A quick glance at the Xbox Live Arcade offerings (especially back during the early days of the service) reveals two major game categories: original games, utilizing well-established play mechanics, or retro titles.

Straight ports of retro titles usually launch at the bargain price-point of $5, while “new” games like Geometry Wars and Undertow, which borrow heavily from old gameplay conventions, are (at least) double that.  However, a $10 game has a much more appealing price-point to an average, hardworking gamer than a $60 game.  Will you get six times the enjoyment out of a “full” game than you will out of an Arcade title?  In many cases, probably not.  Thus, XBLA’s popularity.

A new kind of game seeping into our downloadable libraries is the “retro revival”.  Take an old game, slap a new coat of paint and a few extras onto it, and launch it as a new game.  Some are great (Bionic Commando: Rearmed, Super Street Fighter II Turbo HD Remix), but some are not (Rainbow Islands: Towering Adventure!, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Turtles in Time Re-Shelled, Contra: ReBirth).  What makes one amazing, while another festers in the glow of yesteryear?

Don’t try to make your old classic into something it’s not, and add enough new stuff to make it valid and playable today.  Simple.

All the best game remakes – scratch that, all the best GAMES – combine the finest aspects of gaming history with the technological advances and ideas of today.  Uncharted 2, a forerunner for Game of the Year/Decade/Century, didn’t do a single thing that had never been tried before.  Woo, guns.  Woo, Indian Jones.  Woo, multiplayer.

The thing is: Uncharted 2 took everything that was good about gaming in the past and molded it into a sum greater than its parts.  Then, Naughty Dog polished that entire experience to shine so brightly that it would be difficult for Average Joe Gamer to ever imagine anything greater, including sliced bread.  And, as we all know, sliced bread is the best thing since sliced bread.

But Uncharted 2 was a unique experience.  It was made in the here and now, with thirty years of gaming history on which to build.  Reworking entire classic games into something current is a bit trickier; you have to capture the magic of the original.

A big problem with nostalgia is that we don’t often recall the entire experience of an old game, just particular aspects that made it suck or shine in our entirely subjective minds.  With the N64′s GoldenEye 007, for example, many gamers recall their initial four-player-simultaneous FPS experience, hanging out with friends and munching Doritos while blasting each other with golden guns.

The game in question, while revolutionary and incredible at the time, has not held up well.  By today’s standards, Goldeneye is nearly unplayable.  (No strafing?!  Where’s the other analog stick?!)  An attempt to update the game today might turn out about as well as its 2004 pseudo-sequel.  Fail.

Perfect Dark is in the remake crosshairs currently… all I can say is, “We’ll see.”  Can’t be worse than Perfect Dark: Zero, though, can it?

Come to think of it, Bomberman: Act Zero didn’t turn out too well, either.  Maybe developers should stay away from using “zero” in their sequel titles, as it may be an invitation of a similar number in its review score.

But I digress.  The magic feeling of classic games does not exist in programming code, high-resolution textures, or media over-hype.  It exists in our minds, our memories, and our living rooms.

TMNT: Turtles in Time Re-Shelled on Xbox Live Arcade seemed to do everything wrong.  The updated graphics were dull and lifeless compared to the bright colors of the original, and the inclusion of a third dimension to the plane of movement made the entire game feel “different.” Just the simple fact that you could move and attack up and down instead of just left and right was awkward.  The beloved soundtrack and comical voice effects from the original were butchered, changed for the worse, or removed completely.

Also, the remake was based off of the arcade version, not the far more memorable (read: superior) SNES port.  A few bosses were jarringly different (Tokka and Rahzar vs. Bebop and Rocksteady), and a few were neglected completely (the Rat King, and the incredibly memorable first-person Shredder fight).

And finally, the game was still only thirty minutes long.  Multiplayer was a joke; if one person left the game, you had to start from the first level every time, then all the other players got booted as well.  No “Press Start to Play” flashing at the top of the screen, inviting other Xbox Live-ers to hop in and out anytime.  There were no extra modes, and no unlockable original game.  There was nothing.

A potential “must-buy” turned into a “buy-then-regret-thirty-minutes-later”.  I found the original SNES cart at a pawn shop for $19.99 and didn’t experience a single second of buyer’s remorse.  Where did the magic go?

Super Street Fighter II Turbo HD Remix, conversely, did everything right: tight controls and character balancing.  Also, the developers did an excellent job of improving the audio while leaving the good stuff alone.  Beautiful HD graphics without additional frames of animation ensured the game’s timing felt as perfect now as it did in 1994.  Similarly, it also featured some terrific online play.  It “felt” like the original, but Capcom made it even better.

Updating a game to be fun today should take as much work as creating a new game from scratch. Otherwise, it will just be a cheap, quick, cop-out that will make the fans of the original hate you, and it won’t net you any new ones.  Remember what was great about the original? Bring that back with enhancements we didn’t even know we wanted.

Treat it with the same reverence that the fans have for it.  It’s not just another game to them – it was their childhood bonding with their father, or the first time they’ve been able to step into someone else’s shoes, or a way to keep their mind off of their uneventful life by freeing a virtual princess.  We remember.  Can you?

In a year so flushed with quality games, there is no room for remakes that don’t capture the essence of the source material.  If I truly wanted to play the original game, I’d go out and buy it if I didn’t already have it.  But, if developers improve upon it, I may just have to give them my money once more, and relive my childhood all over again.