One of the reasons why games like Final Fantasy, Grand Theft Auto and Mass Effect allow people to connect more with their protagonists and their allies and enemies is simply down to the number of real-time man hours you spend with them, meaning that when one character suddenly dies and another betrays you it effects you even more than it would had it occurred halfway through a nine-hour campaign, as opposed to a forty hour one. This increased length can, often-times, lead to better storytelling, with deeper plot strands, more in depth back-stories and stronger character development, as keeping the player invested in the story is of critical importance if you want them to see it through to the end.

Mass Effect is a great example of this type of elongated, complex storytelling to the nth degree. A trilogy of games which allows you to port your character from the first game into the final two chapters, it allows you to continue their story throughout all three instalments, tripling the length of their story. Mass Effect also allows the player to morph their protagonist into a paragon of virtue or a reckless, lawless renegade through actions they take and choices they make throughout the games, forming alliances with certain characters and holding the lives and faiths of others in their hands; all of which shapes the game and its multi-stranded narrative in unique ways for different players depending on how they chose to play it. This level of choice, also seen in titles like inFamous and The Witcher, is coveted by fans of the open world game, and sets it apart from more linear titles.

With greater length, choice, and a wider world to explore, the player, naturally, has more things to do. On top of an long campaign with a multitude of main quests comes (an often bigger) selection of side missions. Ranging from mundane collection missions (the feathers in Assassin’s Creed II) to more elaborate multi-part quests which delve further into the protagonist’s character (“I Know You” from Red Dead Redemption), side missions enhance the two most distinctive and enduring qualities of the open world game: immersion and longevity. Side missions scattered throughout an open world game’s locations give it a sense of being a living, breathing world while adding to its lifespan, and strengthening the bond between player and character. It also provides an all you can eat buffet for completionists, who can increase the time they sink onto an open world game three or four-fold when they choose not to forego side missions and just play the main campaign, as they pursue platinum trophies, achievements and a 100% completion statistic.

The open world game is designed with the dedicated gamer in mind; not, strictly speaking, for the stereotypical nerd gamer with little else to do but play a video game day and night, but those of us for whom the video game is one of, if not the medium of choice. Those who play video games passively as an occasional distraction with no interest in the craftsmanship or artistic merit inherit in them will never play an open world game, at least not to completion – cultural phenomenon Grand Theft Auto aside; for them, unless a game is functionally broken, the entertainment comes in shooting something, jumping over something, or kicking a virtual ball into a virtual net – quick, easy, instant gratification with no commitment or convoluted narrative to syphon through. And hey, there’s nothing wrong with that, I like kicking pixelated balls and blowing shit up in 10 minute bursts as much as the next person. But I also appreciate the planning and scripting that goes into crafting an intricate story, I also respect the dedication and man hours that go into creating an beautiful and immersive gaming world, and moreover I admire the talent and foresight it takes to blend these elements together into a work of gaming art – just like a beautifully directed film or an album of great compositions.

The post Born Free: The Immersion of the Open World Game appeared first on GamEir.

In the absence of voice acting, the video game soundtrack bore more of the responsibility for conveying feeling and atmosphere, and while movie soundtracks are a key element in conveying the feeling of a particular scene, the consistent presence of voice acting in film for over half a century has alleviated much of the pressure on the music in expressing the emotion of a scene, as the script and dialogue takes centre stage as the most important device for doing so.

So with only silent written dialogue to work with, if that, it was up to composers to add the element of excitement, joy, fear or drama to the action. This meant that if there was an appropriate and well written piece of music present for a particular moment in a game, it not only stood out more, but also meant more to the gamer; it defined the game or a particular moment within it for the player and, even years or decades later, triggers fond and nostalgic memories whenever it is heard.

This, of course, as alluded to earlier, is more prevalent in older games, fifth generation and below. For an older generation of gamers, the theme which plays during the main stages of the first Super Mario Bros. game on the NES is so intrinsically woven into their psyche that 35 years later even a lapsed gamer who hasn’t played it or any other game in over three decades would most likely be able to hum every note in what is, when given a neutral analysis, a pretty erratic, convoluted sequence of melodies.

The main theme for Super Mario Bros. had to be catchy and memorable, and it was. It could be argued that the main theme for a film or television show could be just as memorable and, also, instrumental. And that is true, however the urgency placed on the video game soundtrack existed throughout that title, within its various stages and boss battles, and the same can be said for countless other titles. Anybody who has played a Final Fantasy game knows the arpeggiated theme that has appeared in some variation during the opening credits of every game in the series; no context, no story, no dialogue, just an introduction to the product common in many forms of audio-visual media. Aerith’s theme from the seventh game, however, is used beautifully to articulate the feeling and story of a particular point in that title, and resonates with the gamer as much as the plot or dialogue of that particular moment because it is arguably the most effective device at the developer’s disposal – a device that is, incidentally, used beautifully and effectively. Final Fantasy VII, and that particular theme, is just one example of thousands of games from the 80’s and 90’s that relied heavily on its soundtrack in the absence of audible dialogue and realistic visuals.

However, even with the technological advancements in video games, allowing for more voice acting and better graphics, the video game soundtrack is still as vital as ever. There are a couple of reasons for this: for one, video games are an interactive experience, meaning that the player can, typically, advance through a stage at their own pace, often leading to spaces of relative inaction where there is no talking and the story doesn’t progress at all; so, rather than creating moments of bland silence, the soundtrack acts as a continuous stimulus, making traversing a map or puzzle solving more enjoyable. Also, there are many games, typically in the RPG genre, where there is so many subplots within an already lengthy story that it is simply not feasible to fill every interchange with voice-acted dialogue (a great example of this is recently released current gen title Persona 5). Another reason is that, simply, the video game soundtrack is a tradition which has no reason to be relegated to a lesser sensory function within the medium: the fans love them, the games wouldn’t be the same without them, and they still serve a valuable, indispensable function.

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Now, anybody who’s even attempted to play the guitar will tell you that playing guitar hero isn’t actually like playing a real guitar, and the absence of strings should be a dead give away for those who haven’t, it still manages to orbit close enough to the experience of the real thing. Coordination between the left and right hand, as well as the sense of rhythm and timing needed to hit the notes on time, are all necessary skills needed to play the real guitar. The presence of said controller (the original of which was shaped like a Gibson SG, one of the most iconic guitars wielded by the likes of Tony Iommi, Angus Young and Frank Zappa), which could be played either on the gamers knee while sitting for maximum concentration, or standing, strapped over the shoulder in an iconic rock pose (usually after four or five cans), added that final cherry of authenticity atop the cake of suspended belief and vicarious fantasy.

The key to Guitar Hero’s success was the fine balance it struck between authenticity and fantasy: not trying to completely replicate the guitar playing experience (Rocksmith would attempt that nearly a decade later), the controller had a long knob on the body of the guitar in place of a plectrum, and five buttons on the neck of the guitar instead of strings and frets; it also had a plastic wammy bar to maximise combo scores and add colour to the music, which also gave the player an added sense of actually being responsible for creating the music coming out of the speakers. This simplified version of guitar playing made it accessible to nonmusicians, while the familiarity of the plastic instrument garnered intrigue from non-gamers, making it acceptable to pull out your PlayStation at parties and gatherings.

This, of course, could have all been for nothing if Guitar Hero wasn’t fun to play, but over a dozen sequels and spin-offs like Rock Band proves that the formula did indeed work. Guitar Hero was the originator, and because of this, it holds a special place in the hearts of those who played it, and a significant place in gaming history as the first of its kind. Playing through Joan Jett’s ‘I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll’ for the first time was a truly unique experience, as was the first time you pushed down on the whammy bar alter the sound of a sustained power chord.

The eclectic soundtrack – or “set list” – also meant that there was something for everybody, no matter what you were into. Fan of classic rock? Jam along to ‘Spanish Castle Magic’. Pop Punk? ‘Fat Lip’ was always a blast to play. Indie? ‘Take Me Out’ was always a crowd pleaser. Heavy Metal? ‘Cowboy’s From Hell’ was sure to satisfy the metalheads, myself included. Funk, alternative hard rock, blues… you get the idea. This variety furthered reach of the game, meaning that anybody who tried to play it could find a song they liked or at least one they knew. It also had the potential to expose the gamer to songs they never heard before, and in turn artists and genres they wouldn’t normally have listened to before: I remember a young Dylan selecting Boston’s ‘More Than A Feeling’, hearing it for the first time as I “played” it, and thinking, “what a f***ing tune!”.

Another thing Guitar Hero did well was highlight the difference in difficulty and complexity between different bands, guitarists, and songs. ‘Smoke on the Water’ and ‘I Wanna Be Sedated’ are great songs, but in terms of technical guitar playing, they’re simply a cut below songs like ‘Texas Flood’ or ‘Bark at the Moon’, the last song in Guitar Hero and the game’s de-facto boss (I can still feel that urge to smash my plastic Gibson SG after failing the song trying to tackle the final solo on the higher difficulties). This gave the casual gamer and musician a lesson in the virtuosity of guitar playing, while simultaneously giving the more dedicated player a more challenging experience if he or she chose to undertake it, at risk to their own mental well being.

Since the release of the first Guitar Hero in 2005, there have been many sequels, spin-offs, and imitators. Art is subjective, so I’m not going to make a case for it being the best, that’s not the point of this article. This is simply a retrospective look at a revolutionary game that single-handedly mainstreamed a gaming genre into a major critical and financial success; more than that though, it’s a reminiscent look at a moment in time, for those of us lucky enough to have experienced it, which made Guitar Hero more than a game, more than a drunken session, more than a feeling…

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The LocoRoco game series began life on Sony’s handheld PSP, with the first game in the series being released on the console less than a year after its launch, it became a fan favourite thanks to its colourful visuals and stripped back, handheld friendly game design, gaining its share of critical acclaim along the way also. LocoRoco’s sequel, titled – believe it or not – LocoRoco 2, ported the first games gameplay, presentation and narrative style essentially unchanged, a simple example of the “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” approach to sequel making. This is not necessarily a bad thing (see the Uncharted series and the Bioshock series as examples of this, among many others), as the gameplay holds up well as an addictive 2D platformer.

The only drawback is that, as a title, it was designed so fittingly for a handheld that seems barer on a home console. The bare-bones control scheme, which sees you using the L1 and R1 buttons to both rotate the screen to move your LocoRoco and make your LocoRoco jump, was designed to compensate for the absence of the L2 and R2 shoulder buttons on the PSP, and while it doesn’t need an overhaul or even re-design, its difficult to overlook when playing it on the big screen. A while back I did a review for a game called Expand where I talked about playing a game, clearly designed for a handheld or smartphone, on a PS4 as a diminished experience, and without wanting to self-plagiarise or rewrite my previous review, LocoRoco 2 suffers from the same conundrum.

The good news is that LocoRoco is a better game than Expand in every way bar the soundtrack, so its quaint qualities shine through regardless. Eating fruit to make your LocoRoco grow into a massive blob, going inside boulders and other projectiles to smash through barriers and the ability to break your gargantuan LocoRoco into dozens of smaller Locoroco’s to squeeze through tight spaces, and then morph them back together into its gelatinous whole, are fun and innovative gameplay mechanics. The ability to go back and replay levels to recover forgotten items and beat your previous score also adds some serious replay value.

Visually and aurally LocoRoco is just as cute and just as clever. The level design is undeniably appealing, with its primary colours and charming characters, making the platforming all the more enjoyable as an experience. Even the game’s main antagonist, Bon Mucho, the leader of the evil Moja Corps, is non-threatening in the vein of any Pixar villain. The sound design is a highlight too, with a nursery rhyme soundtrack of endless optimism that fits the visuals perfectly. One of the game’s most entertaining moments – a real-time minigame where the player must press circle in time to corresponding musical notes to make the LocoRoco sing – incorporates the soundtrack in an interactive way, rewarding the player for their musical timing.

As a whole, LocoRoco 2 is a fun, clever and addictive game which will satisfy fans of the genre. It does have its faults and detriments: its impact is diminished on a home console, it doesn’t contain a whole lot of variety and its soundtrack, as adorable as it may be, can irritate over extended play sessions (again more evidence of its original intent as a handheld game to be played in bite-sized sessions). However, for those looking for a light-hearted platformer with tons of charm and personality, you could do worse than LocoRoco 2.

The post A Review in Progress: LocoRoco 2 appeared first on GamEir.

The boss battle is a huge cornerstone of the action-adventure genre, it gives the player the opportunity to test themselves against a unique opponent, who is overpowered and possesses a different arsenal of offensive weapons from the usual enemies they encounter throughout the game, which are usually relatively low-skilled cut and paste clones of one another. However, often times bosses and boss battles can fall victim to a recycled set of tropes which permeate throughout gaming as a whole: see glowing body-parts which need to be destroyed limb by limb, regenerating health and high powered ballistic weaponry among other generic attributes.

Metal Gear Solid holds claim to, among other things, some of the strongest and most original boss battles in all of gaming, from the psychic mind-reading of Psycho Mantis who can be bested more easily by switching the the controller port (ah, the old days) to Fatman, a roller skating mad bomber who the player must gun down while simultaneously diffusing bombs he plants around the map. However, no boss battle is more unique or, consensus dictates, better than The End from Metal Gear Solid 3.

A standout moment in a standout title, and one of four members of The Cobra Unit that Snake must take on during the course of the game, The End is not just the best boss battle out of an impressive collection of bosses, he’s one of the best in gaming period. Foregoing the usual muscle-men with iron fists or advantageous superpowers, The End instead is an old man, over a century old in fact, armed with nothing but a bolt action sniper rifle. His abilities are limited to the uncanny ability to camouflage himself and the photosynthetic ability to heal himself and communicate with the forest (and its animal inhabitants) in which he resides. Supernatural these abilities may be, but still totally unique in the pantheon of gaming boss battles

Speaking of the forest, the showdown takes places across not one but three forested areas, and unlike most boss fights where the player is forced to engage with an enemy who launches their full arsenal at them in total conspicuousness, The End stays hidden, only making himself known by shooting at an exposed Snake, deterring the player from running around recklessly and encouraging cautiousness. This means that Snake must camouflage himself, forcing him to use primitive tools such as directional microphones, sonar, and thermal goggles to track his footsteps.

All of this means that every single time you spot The End in the cross-hairs of your Sniper rifle and fire is immensely rewarding. Even more satisfying is when you manage to track down his location, sneak up behind him and hold him up (or blast him with a shotgun) without alerting him and getting shot at close range. What’s even more atypical still is that rather than shooting you with a typically lethal sniper bullet, The End shoots Snake with tranquillizer darts; take too many without removing them and replenishing your stamina by eating wildlife and you’ll pass out, which leads to The End carrying Snake off to an earlier area of the game, forcing him to trek all the way back to the forest, with The End drolly greeting you with a “welcome back…” It’s a battle of attrition and patience, words that aren’t normally used in the same breath as the words ‘boss battle’. There isn’t even any music playing during the encounter, save for the sounds of the flora and fauna; but rather than detracting from the experience, it actually serves to ramp up the tension even more.

As if that weren’t enough, there are actually three ways to defeat The End: you can beat him by simply depleting his health with gunfire, or… well I’m not going to delve into spoiler territory any further, but let’s just say that one of them seriously highlights series creator Hideo Kojima’s ingenuity, genius and penchant for using the hardware of the console to impact his in-game software.

When The End is finally defeated and the player proceeds through the rest of the game (the battle takes place at the story’s midway point), they are of course immediately excited to see what else lies around the corner. However, they are also highly aware that what they just experienced was something truly special. Contrary to hipster logic, all that is unique and different is not always superior, engaging in close quarters shootouts in gaming is repeated ad finitum for a reason: it’s fun and it works. That being said, when a developer tries something different and it succeeds, it immediately stands out, leaving many of its contemporaries looking ordinary and in the process, often times, influences change in future games. Metal Gear Solid 3 and The End’s boss battle didn’t seem to instigate the latter however, and that’s unfortunate because the action genre could only benefit exponentially from the inclusion of more unique boss battles like this.

The post The End and the art of the boss battle appeared first on GamEir.

The mode which made the series’ campaign redundant in the hearts and minds of many gamers, playing Call of Duty (or a variety of other FPS games) online is a common addiction for many, with players regularly forgoing the story altogether upon each new annual release so they can quell their cravings with slightly altered weaponry, maps and perks. For me, the first Modern Warfare, which set this epidemic into motion like the emergence of crack cocaine onto the streets, is still the best dose of online gaming – in the form of first-person massacring – money can buy: weighty, pinpoint weaponry which provide the player instantaneous feedback by dropping them and their enemies with just a few bullets, minimal but brilliantly balanced perks, killstreaks and customisation options and a host of excellent maps (like Countdown, Vacant and Bloc), all of which combined has made COD junkies out of the best of us,

Of course, COD 4 just happens to be my drug of choice, it doesn’t matter whether it is COD, Battlefield, Counterstrike, Halo or any other title you can think of, all online FPS players can relate to the following symptoms: severe lower back pain from excessive rounding of the lower back, hoarseness from screaming profanity-laced abuse at digital avatars, the sudden emergence of severe migraines due to back to back losses, and a kill/death ratio laying obscurely in the red thanks to that one arsehole who keeps sniping you from behind that wall while you conveniently absolve yourself of personal responsibility even though you ran into the path of oncoming fire again and again and again,

Oh sure, the highs are sensational, such as accumulating enough kills to secure a friendly helicopter which, in a hail or rapid-fire death, tallies your killstreak to even greater heights, or finally scoring 150 headshots with your favourite weapon to unlock a new form of camouflage with no practical use whatsoever other than to remind you of how many wasted hours you’ve sunk into virtual murder. As much as I love the single player experience in games in general, there’s something about the first person genre which makes blasting my fellow man’s avatar from Berlin halfway across the map with a sawed-off more satisfying than doing the same to a CPU Nazi in Berlin during a campaign mission. Perhaps it says something about the human condition, but I am not a psychiatrist, I am merely a perpetrator of online gun-violence with an addictive personality and an incessant need to gain XP points. I’ve alluded to the lows throughout this article with my description of physical and psychological ailments which come as a result of years in the service in online gaming, such as damage to the neck, spine and lower back which could only be readjusted through the most aggressive forms of chiropractic, and rage-induced headaches so debilitating that they border on the concussive.

Thankfully, after a short but intense initial rekindling of an old love affair, I have since managed to bring my COD online gaming addiction down to a manageable level, to where it no longer interferes with my life, causing me neither physical nor mental anguish. However, like a sudden emergence of PTSD, picking up the controller to engage in a Free-for-all through the gritty streets of Crossfire brings me back to the throes of my addiction with online gaming at its highest, or indeed lowest: It’s been a few days since I’ve last taken a shower, I cannot remember the last time I was laid, and my social life has hit the skids with contact to the outside world being reduced to a minimum; but I’m not concerned about that now, all I care about are my brothers in arms.

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Criticised for, among other things, its dark lighting, more subdued missions and slower vehicle handling, what GTA IV represented above all else was a sharp turning point in the series, a shift from the neon satire of Vice City and the jet-pack flying over-the-top action of San Andreas to a more gritty, melancholic drama. The rainy, dirty streets of New York-inspired Liberty City embodies protagonist Niko Belic’s story, a recent immigrant and veteran of the Balkan Wars whose personal demons are worsened by his relapse into a life of violent crime. It was a shift which divided fans; some praised the bold shift to a more serious tone, while others lamented the more serious vibe and toned-down gameplay. For me, GTA IV’s tone stripped back gameplay and more personable story not only made for the most cohesive and immersive game in the series, but one of the greatest video games ever made.

The beauty of this argument is that the elements of GTA IV levelled against it by detractors are also seen as strengths by those who hold it in high regards. The aforementioned story, with its more serious feel, is one of many divisive elements of the game. For me, if I’m going to invest 20-plus hours into a story, in any medium, my preference would be for an engrossing drama, with a great cast of characters and a sharp script which can be both witty and intense. GTA IV ticks all these boxes; Niko’s supporting cast often outshines the star of the game (which is no mean feat), for comic relief there is his overly-optimistic cousin Roman, and Brucie, the steroid taking bodybuilder. On the more serious side are the legit gangsters like Ray Boccino and Gerald McGreary; more stoic and prone to violence but still hilarious in their own way. All of these characters are expertly voiced and have genuinely brilliant dialogue to work with, embodying GTA IV’s balance between the series’ humourous inclinations and the depressing reality of the unfolding narrative of crime, death and betrayal.

Speaking of the story, it is, for my money one of the best in gaming. Niko’s past is constantly referenced through conversations with friends and the appearance of people from his past criminality in the Adriatic, as you progress, you learn more about all the games major players, as employees begin to trust you, friends begin to rely on you and love interests begin to fall for you. It’s not as blunt as Trevor’s psychosis, CJ’s gangbanging backstory or Tommy Vercetti’s Tony Montana posturing; the story of Niko and those in Liberty City is more subtle and understated, but also more interesting and rewarding.

The gameplay correlates with the feeling of the story; driving is slower but more realistic and combat is basic but challenging, with counter-punching being a necessity if you want to win hand-to-hand. The aiming and covering mechanics introduced in GTA IV fixes one of the series’ most galling faults, and while it isn’t quite as smooth as GTA V (you also don’t have the same arsenal of guns or customisation options), for a glorified street criminal engaging in street shootouts the weapons are more than sufficient. All of this is implemented across one of the most well-paced games I’ve ever played, the way the story unfolds, introducing new characters with new missions demanding more of Niko’s time and services across the game’s three islands, which are accessible as you progress through the campaign, manages to keep the player constantly interested, encouraging them to play more without showing all its cards too early; that it manages to maintain this level of intrigue consistently all the way to the game’s conclusion is an epic achievement rarely seen in gaming, particularly a game of this length (the only title that comes to mind which could rival GTA IV’s pacing is Resident Evil 4).

Add to all these elements a host of easter eggs, a full phonebook of potential friends with whom Niko can engage in activities with, and side missions and you have the games other x-factor which distinguishes it from the competition: immersion. GTA IV feels like a living, breathing city, taking control of Niko is like stepping into the shoes of a real man with real troubles and real emotions. Some may be annoyed by late night phone calls from cousin Roman to go drinking, but it’s moments like these – and the intimate banter which reveals secrets about the game’s cast – that set GTA IV apart. GTA IV is more than an action game, more than a third person shooter, more than a great story with great characters; it’s an immersive experience, one which is unparalleled by few, if any, other games made before or since. GTA IV held the highest aggregate Metacritic score for a reason: it wasn’t a knee-jerk reaction to the hype surrounding what was then the biggest game in the world up until that point, it was a gut reaction to one of the most well-crafted pieces of art in the medium.

The post Why GTA IV is the best game in the series appeared first on GamEir.

Highly cinematic, the behind the shoulder camera which trails the trailer’s unknown protagonist and her captors as thunder roars the skies above and rain pummels them and the ground below establishes a tense and hostile atmosphere from the get-go. Much has been made of how violent the trailer is and, simply, there is no denying it. While realistic depictions of gratuitous violence have been commonplace in film and television for half a Century now, comparable displays of violence have only emerged in video games very recently as it was impossible for the relatively new medium to do so with the primitive technology and graphical ability of previous generations. In fact, it really wasn’t until the sixth generation of consoles, which emerged at the turn of the millennium that realistic, that the hardware was sufficiently powerful enough to depict convincing visual brutality (it could even be argued that it wasn’t until the seventh generation, the last one before the current generation, that it became truly realistic). What makes the trailer so hard to stomach for most people, I believe, is lack of context.

In film, heinous violence can be rendered bearable to the viewer if it is acceptably contextualised; it’s what separates, albeit brutal, movies like Hacksaw Ridge and Casino from the gore-porn of Saw and Hostel – emotional engagement, morality and quality storytelling. The problem that this trailer faces is that without sufficient narrative context, a woman having her arms broken with a claw-hammer is just, well, a woman having her arms broken with a claw-hammer. The first Last Of Us game was critically acclaimed not because of how violent it was (and it is, as anyone who has played it will tell you, exceptionally violent) but because, among a litany of other redeeming qualities, how it was able to suck the player into its dystopian world, through brilliant storytelling, outstanding scripting and voice acting, and the genuine emotion it evoked. Therefore, just as in Cormack McCarthy’s novel The Road, which is arguably The Last Of Us’ greatest source of inspiration, it is able to deal with uncomfortable themes of murder, starvation, tribalism, the death of children, rape and molestation without coming off as being deliberately antagonist or controversial. It’ll be interesting to see as graphics improve in gaming, becoming more detailed and vibrant if developers will forego quality storytelling in favour of graphical flare and depictions of increasingly graphic violence and death. Some games, in the past, have driven explicit violence to the forefront as the focal point of the experience (such as Manhunt or State of Emergency), and with rare exception – such as the latest seventh instalment in the Resident Evil franchise – it usually highlights a game lacking in any redeemable content or, worse still, overshadows any quality that may exist.

The good news is that, in an industry with a relatively low percentage of casual and passive consumers (when compared to film and music), I cannot see most developers becoming complacent with regards to its software’s other integral elements, one of which is storytelling, by simply relying on using violence as a shock tactic. What’s even better is that this is less likely to occur with The Last of Us Part II. Naughty Dog has, at this point, a rock solid track record and a reputation as one of the best developers in the world to uphold, with the first Last of Us game being one of the brightest jewels in its crown. (A quick side note on the sparseness of the trailer too is that games which tend to have minimalist trailers, or are indifferent to promoting their games at expo’s, usually indicate a developers confidence in their product – just look at Rockstar’s history of cryptic trailers and E3 no-shows.) It will be violent yes, probably the most violent product the studio has ever sold to the masses, but the violence will take place in a beautiful dystopian world, within which a wonderful story is likely to be woven, the chapters of which will be accessible through what is likely to be a masterfully crafted gameplay experience. In context – bloody, glorious context.

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