#oneaday Day 751: I Love You, Shizune

This is the fourth of several posts regarding the notorious amateur-developed visual novel Katawa Shoujo. If you are intending to play this game and proceed down the “Shizune” path and would like to avoid spoilers, I recommend you skip this post. I’ve even put the spoilery discussion below the break. Aren’t I nice?

If you’re still reading this, it’s highly likely you already know what Katawa Shoujo is but just in case you aren’t and/or you haven’t read the previous posts where I included this exact same paragraph, it’s a visual novel developed by 4 Leaf Studios, made up of members of the much- (and usually justifiably-) maligned 4chan community along with other itinerant creative types from around the Internet. It was developed following extended discussion over a sketch by Japanese doujinshi artist Raita, and is the very definition of a “labour of love”, having come from discussions on 4chan all the way to a full-fledged, professional-quality game between the years of 2007 and 2012. It’s been described by some as “eroge” or an erotic game, but I feel this does it an injustice; there are sexual scenes in the game, yes, but the point of the game is not to get to these scenes — rather, they are part of the plot, and not necessarily a “victory” for the player. They are also not terribly frequent compared to the rest of the game, which focuses on interpersonal interactions and psychological issues.

If you want to check out Katawa Shoujo for yourself, take a peek at the official website. My previous post regarding Emi’s path can be found here, and if you’re too lazy to scroll down, yesterday’s post on Hanako can be found here, and the previous day’s post on Lilly can be found here. Following this, there’s only Rin left to go.

Continue reading “#oneaday Day 751: I Love You, Shizune” →

#oneaday Day 750: I Love You, Hanako

This is the third of several posts regarding the notorious amateur-developed visual novel Katawa Shoujo. If you are intending to play this game and proceed down the “Hanako” path and would like to avoid spoilers, I recommend you skip this post. I’ve even put the spoilery discussion below the break. Aren’t I nice?

Continue reading “#oneaday Day 750: I Love You, Hanako” →

#oneaday Day 749: I Love You, Lilly

This is the second of several posts regarding the notorious amateur-developed visual novel Katawa Shoujo. If you are intending to play this game and proceed down the “Lilly” path and would like to avoid spoilers, I recommend you skip this post. I’ve even put the spoilery discussion below the break. Aren’t I nice?

If you’re still reading this, it’s highly likely you already know what Katawa Shoujo is but just in case you aren’t, it’s a visual novel developed by 4 Leaf Studios, made up of members of the much- (and usually justifiably-) maligned 4chan community along with other itinerant creative types from around the Internet. It was developed following extended discussion over a sketch by Japanese doujinshi artist Raita, and is the very definition of a “labour of love”, having come from discussions on 4chan all the way to a full-fledged, professional-quality game between the years of 2007 and 2012. It’s been described by some as “eroge” or an erotic game, but I feel this does it an injustice; there are sexual scenes in the game, yes, but the point of the game is not to get to these scenes — rather, they are part of the plot, and not necessarily a “victory” for the player. They are also not terribly frequent compared to the rest of the game, which focuses on interpersonal interactions and psychological issues.

If you want to check out Katawa Shoujo for yourself, take a peek at the official website. My previous post regarding Emi’s path can be found here.

Continue reading “#oneaday Day 749: I Love You, Lilly” →

#oneaday Day 748: Life Story

Do you think your own life story would make for an interesting read? Playing Katawa Shoujo rather extensively today has made me give some consideration to the thought, since that game, despite its distinctive — perhaps even unique — premise (“This is a game about disabled girls”) is in fact simply about human relationships and real life struggles. There’s no “epicness” whatsoever; the world doesn’t come to an end; there’s no “save the princess” (except metaphorically speaking in a few instances) — it’s just about normal people (albeit normal people with disabilities) living their lives.

When I think back on my own life, there are certainly plenty of interesting stories there for the telling, and given that we human beings are creatures of habit, often doomed to make the same mistakes over and over, it’s fairly unlikely that there’s nobody out there who could relate to some of them.

This makes the concept of autobiographies an interesting one. The shelves in ailing book retailers such as Smith’s and Waterstone’s are crammed with celebrity “autobiographies” (and I use the term loosely, since a large proportion of them are ghost-written), all called things like My Story, My Struggle or My Tits. (I made the last one up, but it’s arguably what anything written by Katie Price should be called, given the thing that most people seem to know her for.)

The thing is, though, I almost feel like I’d rather read the autobiography of someone who hasn’t led a remarkable life. Someone who hasn’t shot to stardom, done something remarkable with their life. It works for fictional narratives, as anyone who has read Generation X by Douglas Coupland will attest — a narrative in which nothing happens (relatively speaking) means that you can focus more on the people and their reactions to everyday, relatable situations and then, crucially, compare your own experiences and prejudices to the same situations. This is something that you simply can’t do with most celebrity works — they live in such a different world to the rest of us, almost like caricatures or fictional characters.

The “fiction” part of celebrities is arguably at least partly true. Their public perception is something which is carefully managed and controlled by their publicists. The truth behind their lives is often a lot more mundane, but by extension, more relatable. The trouble is, the only time we ever see that mundane everyday life is through the snooping lens of a paparazzi, or in some cringeworthy ITV documentary showing Peter Andre having a wank or something. The very nature of their celebrity makes them feel different, makes observing them doing “natural” things feel like an alien thing to do. Celebrity Big Brother proves this particularly aptly by being actually rather boring. In this case, it’s because they’re in an artificial situation where they’re forced to be mundane, and this, once again, is merely a fictional representation of a real life.

Normal (i.e. non-celebrity) people, though, the non-player characters of society? Those are the ones I’d be interested in reading about. Whether it’s the story of how they got into a fight with their supposed best friend at school over what one of them assumed was light-hearted teasing and the other one took to heart, or the tale of how they met their partner. Truth and real life is sometimes far stranger than fiction, and it’s worth remembering that sometimes.

I’m not sure what my point is, to be honest. I don’t think I’m planning on writing an autobiography (though certain fragments of this blog stray into that territory sometimes, admittedly) but I feel like doing so in one form or another might be an interesting experience. Perhaps writing fictionalised stories based on real-life experiences? It’s something I’ve toyed with the idea of before, but have always shied away from for fear of people connecting the dots too much and making judgements about things I’ve been through.

That said, despite my shyness in a lot of social situations, I’m generally pretty up-front with talking about past struggles if given the opportunity to do so, so perhaps it might not be such a terrible idea to do, after all. The truest, most resonant creative works come from the creator tapping into their own personal well of past experiences and pain.

Anyone reading this tapped into the contents of their own soul and memory and come up with something great?

#oneaday Day 747: I’ve Already Done A Post Called “Fun With Portals” So Use Your Imagination

Can you imagine how awesome it would be if portals were real? Portals as in the portals from Portal, not portals as in Web portals. I know those exist.

Let’s consider a few real-world applications of said portals.

For starters, assuming the technology could be modified to create more than two portals, a worldwide transportation network — perhaps attached to some large chain of fast food restaurants or coffee shops — could easily be set up. Imagine how much easier it would be to get around and visit friends if you could simply step through a portal in your local Starbucks and come out in a different Starbucks somewhere else. (Pedants may suggest a portal in your own home might be more useful, but that is obviously then open to abuse. Public portals are the way forward in this instance.)

Second of all, the creation of a real-life Resident Evil-style Item Box, where the inordinately huge number of possessions that you dumped inside are inexplicably available any time you open an identical-looking box somewhere else. This would make getting furniture home from Ikea considerably easier. Perhaps they could even sell the boxes in question, allowing users to then drop any future furniture purchases in the public box in store and have it immediately pop out at the other end. (Those who live with others may wish to warn their housemates if they are going to do this, however, for seeing a fully-formed bookcase suddenly bursting out of the floor may be somewhat terrifying for those with weak constitutions.)

Thirdly, those finding the development of an exercise routine troublesome due to lack of space can make themselves an infinite running track in even the smallest of apartments simply by placing two portals opposite one another. Obviously ensure the floor space between the two portals is clear and you have understanding neighbours if you do not live on the ground floor, but you can then run to your heart’s content without ever having to go outside and worry about the general public laugh at your pathetic speed and wobbling man-boobs. (Assuming you’re a gentleman, of course.)

Fourthly, the Walk of Shame after a particularly rambunctious night on the town can easily be dealt with by simply popping one portal on your bedroom wall before you leave, and then, when the night/sex is over, simply pop the other portal on a wall near the situation you would no longer like to be physically present in. (Do then remember to either close the portals or put the second portal somewhere else so that the person/situation you are attempting to escape from is unable to follow you into your bedroom.

Fifthly, stairs could become a thing of the past. You know when something you really need/want is at the opposite end of your house and your own laziness precludes you from climbing the stairs to go and get it? Simply ensure you leave a portal upstairs at all times, and then fire the other one immediately in front of you. Wander through and voila — no unnecessarily tiring stair-climbing to worry about. (If you are performing this operation primarily to get food, be aware that you will probably get fat if you’re not even getting the exercise that climbing your stairs provides.)

It should, by now, be abundantly clear that real-life portal technology would be useful, practical and not at all intrusive. FOR SCIENCE.

#oneaday Day 746: I Love You, Emi

This post regards the notorious amateur-developed visual novel Katawa Shoujo. If you are intending to play this game and proceed down the “Emi” path and would like to avoid spoilers, I recommend you skip this post. I’ve even put the spoilery discussion below the break. Aren’t I nice?

If you want to check out Katawa Shoujo for yourself, take a peek at the official website.

Continue reading “#oneaday Day 746: I Love You, Emi” →

#oneaday Day 745: Miss Catherine O’Gyny

I’ve been rather disappointed by the attitudes I’ve seen over the last couple of days, from people who, though in many cases I’ve not had the opportunity to speak to directly, I would consider to be my peers — those working in the game journalism business, and specifically those from the UK.

What I’m referring to here isn’t a blanket problem with all UK game journalists or the industry at large, but it is a relatively widespread one, and one which I don’t particularly want to get into direct finger-pointing about. I do, however, feel that it is worth mentioning.

Context: Last night there was a launch party for the impending UK release of Atlus’ excellent Catherine. If you’re not familiar with Catherine, it’s a bold, daring game that doesn’t shy away from adult themes, and explores the concepts of relationships, commitment, infidelity and the power of sex through well-written dialogue, well-realised characters and some very striking, surreal imagery. Despite its subject matter, it never oversteps the boundary into tastelessness, and the vast majority of the game’s sexuality is implied rather than made explicit.

So of course it would be an excellent idea to launch the game in a strip club. Of course that would be a sensible idea, particularly given that there is no strip club (or indeed any strippers) in the game, which handles sexuality in an understated, tasteful manner which respects the player’s maturity.

Some people on Twitter quite rightly spoke out and said that they felt this venue for the game’s launch was totally inappropriate. Some brought out facts and figures to back up their arguments. But surely even without facts and figures, anyone with half a brain could see that hosting a launch event for a game in a strip club is just a terrible, terrible idea.

Apparently not. The people who raised objections to the venue were told by some attendees that they were taking things too seriously, that they were trying to unfairly tar people with the “sexist” brush, that it wasn’t really anything to worry about. Arguments got heated in many instances. I kept well away from the whole thing and observed — usually the best choice in this sort of situation.

The issue that really bugged me, though, was that for many of those who were at the event — I wasn’t, I hasten to add — it seemed a simple matter to dismiss the inherent misogyny in hosting an event at such a venue. The objectors were accused of “overreacting”.

Fact is, the video games industry has always been male dominated and, despite the number of prominent women who are now involved, is still a male-dominated industry. Hosting events like this is not going to make women (and, indeed, some men) feel welcome to the industry, and from the outside it just looks sleazy — both for the industry at large, and for Catherine, too, which, as a genuinely thought-provoking, mature game for adults, it does not deserve. None of that is an overreaction. The industry needs to be more inclusive.

All this isn’t the first time the reaction of many UK media types has bugged me, however. Late last year, industry trade publication MCV held the Games Media Awards ceremony, during which people from across the industry were to be celebrated for their achievements. It should be a prestigious, high-profile ceremony — and to some extent, it is. However, all trace of credibility for the event was lost for me when I clapped eyes on its Twitter feed, which was encouraging attendees to get as drunk as possible and show up naked, and continually promised “industry boobs” — a supposedly hilarious joke whereby if the account got enough followers, they’d show a picture that actually turned out to be the flabby chest of one of the gentlemen had reviewed the UFC Personal Trainer product for Kinect. IT’S CLEVER BECAUSE IT’S NOT ACTUALLY SEXIST BUT LOOKS LIKE IT IS, DO YOU SEE?

I have always been of the attitude that an awards ceremony should be a professional affair — dinner suits, shiny shoes, that sort of thing. That doesn’t mean that you can’t have a bit of fun with it, but the babbling of the GMAs’ Twitter account really seemed to cross the line with its crass humour, so I happened to mention it one day on Twitter, noting how the behaviour of whoever was running the account had actually put me off wanting to find out more about the ceremony.

I was promptly retweeted and mocked for, again, “taking it too seriously”.

In my experience, “you’re taking it too seriously”, “I didn’t mean it” or “I was just having a laugh” are some of the weakest defences that there are. They show complete disregard for the other person’s feelings and put across the notion that it’s all right to do or say anything you want, so long as it’s “a joke” or not meant to be “taken seriously”. The other person should just lighten up, stop being such a stick-in-the-mud, take the pole out of their arse.

The Games Media Awards got their comeuppance when sponsors Grainger Games ended up acting like a bunch of dicks, however. The hypocrisy of some, who had previously been advocating the crass humour of the Twitter account, now lambasting Grainger Games for its inappropriate behaviour in person was almost amusing.

In the case of the Catherine event, I feel very disappointed in the way many UK journos have behaved. While I’m sure the event offered a great networking opportunity, the fact that it appears no-one saw fit to object to the venue and instead were more than happy to hoover up the free drinks is a bit sad. It’s highly likely that there were some people there — male and female — who would have felt very uncomfortable in that situation, but felt like they would be unable to mention it for fear of ruining the networking opportunity, or the relationship they might have with public relations representative. The fact that those who weren’t there who did object to the venue were promptly called out and, in some cases, ridiculed, is really sad, and the flimsy justifications and excuses offered by those who were in attendance are what I find particularly disappointing.

In order to fight the perception of the games industry as an all-boys’ club in which only twentysomething men can participate, events like this need to stop happening. There’s no good reason the launch couldn’t have taken place at any old bar — but I have a horrible, sleazy, sneaking suspicion that the strip club venue was chosen precisely because it has provoked the discussion it has. You know the saying… “any publicity is good publicity”, right? Would people be as aware of Catherine if all this hadn’t happened?

In short, I just think that the industry is better than this. And if this is the direction that members of the industry think it is appropriate to go in, then I’m more than happy that my current career sits on the sidelines and concentrates more on the analytical, business side of matters rather than flashy, over the top, exclusive events like this.

#oneaday Day 744: Being a Sidebar to That Interminable Games and Art Discussion, Regarding Visual Novels

Games are art, games aren’t art, games can never be art. Who gives a toss? Actually, judging by the amount of discussion this topic has been generating over the years, quite a few people. For me and my friends, it was Final Fantasy VII that first made us even consider it. Nowadays, of course, Final Fantasy VII and the JRPG genre in general is regarded as something of a cliche, but that’s not what I’m going to get into here.

Instead, inspired by finally getting around to downloading, installing and starting Katawa Shoujo, I wanted to say a few words about the visual novel genre of interactive entertainment, and its tangential relevance to the “games as art” issue.

For the uninitiated (and those too lazy to click on the link above), Katawa Shoujo, which apparently literally translates to Cripple Girls, is a visual novel-cum-dating sim developed by members of notorious Internet cesspit 4Chan. It casts the players in the role of a teenage boy struggling to come to terms with his own condition — arrhythmia. As part of his rehabilitation and treatment, he’s transferred to a special school that specifically caters to students with disabilities, and from here he comes to know a variety of strange and wonderful characters, most of whom each have some sort of disability. After the first act, the game then proceeds down one of several paths depending on which girl in the cast the player decides our protagonist is going to pursue.

I shan’t talk any more about Katawa Shoujo specifically at this time, as I’m still partway through my first playthrough and don’t want to draw any conclusions just yet. But what playing it is reminding me is that visual novels are one of my favourite styles of games — and yet, ironically, they’re barely games at all by the traditional definition.

I know I said I wouldn’t talk any more about Katawa Shoujo yet, but in Katawa Shoujo so far, I have pressed the “continue” button a whole lot and made approximately four choices in about two and a half hours of gameplay. I do not feel short-changed by this, as the stuff for which I am pressing “continue” is interesting, compelling and utterly addictive in exactly the same way that a good book is.

The situation is pretty much the same with titles like the Ace Attorney series, arguably my favourite series of all time. The vast majority of your time in these games is spent pressing a large “continue” button, with the occasional choice of where to go next, what to examine and, in the series’ iconic courtroom scenes, using what you have discovered at the appropriate time to prove your case. In these games, there’s one set solution and no deviating from it — but again, I don’t feel short-changed at all.

Why? Well, the technical limitations of the genre mean that you find yourself filling in the blanks with your imagination a lot more than you might if the game were fully-voiced, fully-animated and provided complete freedom of interactivity. Instead, you’re presented with static backdrops; character stills overlaid with maybe three or four different frames of animation to represent different emotions; and text. Lots of text.

The latter part is what puts a lot of people off visual novel titles — the “it’s too much reading” argument — but it’s from all the text that these titles gain all their power. Typically involving the player getting inside the head of the protagonist and playing things from a first-person narrative perspective, the use of text throughout allows for a far more in-depth exploration of the character than we get in even the lengthiest of RPG. We know what the protagonist is feeling; how he reacts to events; what his attitudes towards the other characters are; and any conflicts he might be feeling. It’s a curiously intimate relationship that the player of a visual novel has with the character they’re ostensibly “controlling”, but this intimacy is oddly often amplified by how infrequently you get to make choices or speak for the protagonist. The choices you make, in many cases, are extremely important, and in some cases can cause the entire plot to veer off in a completely different direction. Their relative infrequence makes them powerful moments to mull over.

But what of the relevance to the “games and art” debate? Well, visual novels present an interesting medium for a variety of artists to express themselves. A novel is typically the work of one person — the writer, perhaps with an illustrator in tow depending on what type of book it is. A painting is the work of a visual artist. A piece of music is the work of a composer. But a visual novel requires all of these things — art, music, sound, writing and in some cases, animation and acting — making it a distinctively collaborative, cross-disciplinary medium. Alongside this, it’s one of the most accessible forms of game there is — if you can read, you can play, understand and enjoy a visual novel even if you’ve never, ever picked up a controller before — meaning it has an inherently larger potential audience than the relatively specialised “gamey games” markets. It distinguishes itself from movies, animation and TV shows by providing a middle ground between the “show, don’t tell” of moving pictures and the pure imaginative effort required when reading a novel.

In short, it allows for stories to be told in a way that is unique to its own medium. These stories, while often following similar patterns and very often involving big-eyed anime girls, are no less valid and worthy of study, interpretation and criticism than those presented in more “traditional” media. In fact, if anything, the fact that the visual novel is a relatively new and emergent art form merits more attention than it actually gets.

And sure, while many visual novels descend into Japanese absurdity, titles like Katawa Shoujo; Digital: A Love Story; Don’t Take It Personally, Babe, It Just Ain’t Your Story; and numerous others all push the boundaries of what it’s possible to make interesting interactive entertainment from, along with taking on subject matter I can’t recall ever being dealt with (tastefully, anyway) in other types of game.

Consider how simple early movies were and how sophisticated they are now in comparison. Given visual novels’ relative infancy compared to other media, imagine what the possibilities might hold in the future. Will we ever see a title like this regarded as “interactive literature” or equivalent?

Who knows. All I know right now is this: if your primary motivation for playing interactive entertainment is to be told a story that draws you into its world and characters, you’d do well to check out titles like those that I’ve mentioned above.

#oneaday Day 743: Out

It occurs to me that I haven’t “been out” for ages. Not literally; I left the house both yesterday and today and will probably do so again tomorrow. I’m referring to what people mean when they say they are “going out” for an evening — that is, hitting the pubs and clubs of the local area, and probably drinking heavily along the way. Motivations for “going out” may vary — meeting with friends, going on the pull or simply just for something to do — but the results are usually pretty similar.

The vast majority of my “going out” when I was younger (read: during the university years) was conducted in conjunction with my good friend and Agricola demon Sam. We had quite a few memorable nights over the years, but they often tended to follow a fairly similar pattern.

Sam and I, and possibly a few others, would decide that we wanted to go out for some reason. In fact, there wasn’t always an explicit reason — “Let’s go to Lennon’s” was usually reason enough.

Regardless of whether there was a reason or not, we would get ourselves into whatever we considered our glad-rags to be, and head out for our target — usually either the aforementioned Lennon’s or Kaos, two grotty little student-heavy nightclubs within easy staggering distance of most of our homes, and two places with a predilection for cheap drinks that were usually 1) a knockoff of a recognisable drink and 2) out of date. Lennon’s, in particular, proudly sported a fridge which noted “contents may be out of date” and the happily sold you said contents for £1 a bottle.

The reason we went to these places rather than somewhere bigger and (arguably) better? Stubbornness, partly, but also none of us were particularly hardcore clubbers. None of us were into doing the drugs (to my knowledge, anyway) and none of us were bigtime drinkers. Both Lennon’s and Kaos allowed you the authentic clubland experience of being in a dark, smelly room with music too loud to talk to your friends over, but were both small enough that you never lost track of your friends for very long. Lennon’s, in particular, was roughly the size of a large garden shed and entirely contained in a single room, so if you had reached the stage where you couldn’t find your friends in there, you had definitely had too much.

Part of the appeal of “going out” for some is going on the pull, hoping to score some sweet lovin’ from some trophy guy/girl that you’d had your eye on all night. Or, as the evening went on, anyone who looked vaguely in your direction or accidentally made eye contact.

Suffice to say, our attempts in that regard were usually confined to standing on the perimeter of the dance floor having picked a “target” that we decided we quite liked, and then staring at them off and on for most of the night. When closing time rolled around, we would then leave with the lingering sense of regret that we should have probably actually gone and tried to talk to them, or at the very least danced near them in the vain hope they might pay attention.

I can only remember a single successful instance of “pulling” in my entire life. I was at Kaos, this time with the university theatre group, as it was our wont to invade Kaos every Monday night and enjoy their plentiful stocks of Newcastle Brown Ale and vodka-fake Red Bull. On this particular occasion, I had had a fair amount of vodka and fake Red Bull, and was consequently of the opinion that my dancing was The Shit.

“You ever tried ecstasy, mate?” yelled some Neanderthal I didn’t know in my ear as I wildly flailed around the dance floor.

“No,” I replied honestly. Almost immediately afterwards I was grabbed by a nearby blonde girl (named Beki, as it turned out) who proceeded to snog my face off.

“Yeah,” said the guy to me after Beki had allowed me to come up for air. “You’d love ecstasy.”

Quite.

So why don’t I “go out” any more? Several reasons, really: I don’t really drink any more; I live a long way from anyone who might want to “go out”; but most of all, I’m not sure I see the point any more.

That said, I can think of two people offhand who may well be reading this for whom I would happily make an exception and subject myself to the cavernous depths of The Dungeon or the sticky floor of Lennon’s. But that’s more because I haven’t seen them for ages and miss them rather than any particular massive desire to go clubbing. I certainly don’t feel the same pressure I once did that I perhaps “should” go out, head off somewhere by myself and have a miserable experience of the type outlined here.

Perhaps I’m just an antisocial old bastard. We can probably all agree on that.