2087: Virtual Photography

I’ve been fascinated by the idea of “virtual photography” for quite some time now. For those wondering what on Earth I’m talking about, I’m referring to the idea of creating aesthetically pleasing screenshots using video games as the base medium, but sometimes involving editing software to touch them up a bit or get rid of some of the inevitable glitches you find in polygon-based games.

A lot of modern games are embracing their photo-realistic nature by including a photo mode right there in the game itself; these modes often include numerous realistic filters and settings that work like an actual camera, as well as, often, an enhanced version of the game engine that sacrifices framerate in the name of visual fidelity, since virtual photography is more concerned with the quality of still images than fluidity of movement.

What I’ve found more interesting over the years, though, is the ability of games to let us photograph things we simply wouldn’t be able to in reality. Fantastic structures, stylised characters, improbable situations, that sort of thing. And as such, although I like the idea of photo modes in stuff like Forza Motorsport and its ilk, I’m inevitably drawn much more towards games that allow you to photograph characters and fantastic environments rather than cars. Nothing against cars, of course; I’m just more interested in people and places.

Second Life

A few years back, I spent quite a lot of time in the social/creative MMO Second Life. I was going through some difficult stuff at the time, and the people I met in there helped me through it a great deal — more than they perhaps knew. To my shame, I haven’t been back for quite some time and I don’t know how many of them would remember me now — it’s been a good five years or so since I logged in, I think — but I have fond memories from that time, and pleasingly, I have a visual record of many of those fond memories.

Early on in my time “on the Grid”, as Second Life players called it, I developed a fascination with photographing people’s avatars. Since your avatar was a reflection of your personality in Second Life — you could change appearance at will, and there was no “level-locked” equipment or anything; you just had to create, find or purchase items — I found this to be an interesting means of coming to understand various people. Above you can see one Kade Klata, someone who was a great friend to me during the aforementioned difficult times, and someone who got me into this whole virtual photography thing in the first place.

Kade disappeared off the Grid one day and I was never sure where she went; wherever you are, Kade, I hope you’re happy, and I hope you know you touched my life for the better.

This was an early experiment with using heavily stylised filters to smooth off the rough edges of Second Life’s graphics. This particular image was taken in a region called “Botanical”, which was renowned for having beautifully constructed scenery. Worthy of note is the fact that all the buildings, scenery and objects in Second Life are constructed by the “players”, so someone had spent a lot of time on this place; it seemed only fitting to immortalise it somehow.

I normally hate taking pictures of myself, but even though I loosely modelled my Second Life avatar on myself, I actually enjoyed putting myself into virtual photographs. This image was in a moody area called “Templum Ex Obscurum”; I forget what its actual purpose was — perhaps just to look pretty — but I was pleased with how this shot came out, and even more pleased with the fancy lighting I managed to create while figuring out how Photoshop worked.

I don’t mind admitting that when I was most involved in Second Life, I was somewhat emotionally fragile. One of the things I liked most about that virtual world when I was in it, though, was the fact that there were all manner of ways to express yourself. This image, taking alongside one “Rylan Carling”, who graciously agreed to come and model for me, was actually rather cathartic to create. (That’s “me” in the background; by this point, I’d been given something of a virtual makeover by a friend.)

…Yeah, I was pretty emo around that time. (Hell, I still am; I still like this image and what it symbolised when I was putting it together.) Anyway, enough of that; if you want to see more images from that time, take a peek at my long-abandoned Flickr account.

Final Fantasy XIV

The inherent drama in a role-playing game makes for some great “photos”, assuming you can time pressing that screenshot button correctly. Like this:

Or this:

And then, of course, like Second Life, there’s the self-expression element of everyone’s avatars thanks to the “Glamour” system, whereby you can make one piece of gear look like another.

This image is pretty special to me; it’s our whole Free Company meeting for a “group photo” shortly before the release of the first expansion pack Heavensward.

Custom Maid 3D 2

And finally, it would be remiss of me to talk about virtual photography without mentioning Custom Maid 3D 2, which I introduced to you all the other day. Unfortunately, the vast majority of the “photographs” I’ve taken using this are, shall we say, not entirely suitable for publication on this particular blog (I have a few standards!) but, well, here’s a few that I feel I probably can just about get away with…

The thing that’s impressed me most about CM3D2 so far is the fact that it’s the closest I’ve seen 3D graphics get to 2D art. The character models, the art style, the outlining, the cel-shading and the expressiveness of the faces — all of those things combine to create something that is not at all “realistic”, of course, but which is a very convincing recreation of the idealised anime style.

As you’d expect from something with the word Custom in its title, the character creation system in CM3D2 is pretty astounding, allowing you to customise pretty much anything from face and body shape to eye style and whether or not the character has one or two of those cute little “fangs” you sometimes see anime girls depicted with. You can even set how heavy their boobs are. And choose their clothes, obviously. Dressing your maids up is one of the most fun parts of the game that doesn’t involve doing lewd things.

Even the lewd bits are eminently suitable for virtual photography, though, since there are a number of “actions” that simply pose rather than… you know… do stuff. Combine these poses with the control you have over their costumes as well as the camera control mod that allows seriously precise positioning of your viewpoint plus the wonderful ability to make the characters look at the camera on command (assuming it wouldn’t be physically impossible) and you have a virtual photo studio that’s a whole lot of fun to play around with.

Games are art, yo.

2079: WTF is Wrong with Video Games? Absolutely Nothing

Yesterday, social media was abuzz with something stupid that gaming site Polygon published. This is, of course, nothing unusual, since Polygon appears to have shifted its identity from “reinventing games journalism” to “posting the most idiotic things possible in the name of those sweet clicks from people who think we’re dumb, but really they are the dumb ones for clicking on it, oh wait, don’t use archive.is please, stop it, my aaaaad revenuuuuuue”.

Said article was called WTF is Wrong with Video Games? and was, in fact, an excerpt from an e-book of the same name by self-professed “Mean Guy” Phil Owen. As the title suggests, it’s yet another in a long series of navel-gazing articles that suggest video games need to “grow up” if they really want to be respected as art. And the main thrust of Owen’s argument throughout the piece is that “gameplay” gets in the way of “art”.

Dara O’Briain did a good comedy routine about Call of Duty a few years ago in which he commented on the seeming absurdity of a game restricting access to the rest of the story based on your skill — and yet it’s something that, over the years, we’ve become accustomed to. The concept of “story as reward” is a powerful motivation for many game enthusiasts — I’m one of them — and being able to advance an enjoyable story as a result of proving your own skills is often inherently more satisfying than just having a story served up to you passively.

But Owen’s argument is also a gross oversimplification of the situation. Let’s ponder a few things.

The interminable game/not game argument

As a medium, video games have expanded and flourished enormously over their lifetime — far more quickly than any other medium in history. Early games were technically limited and as such tended to focus on the mechanical aspects while making narrative little more than an afterthought. In other words, the technology simply wasn’t there for games to be able to tell a compelling story convincingly, so as such the mechanical aspects were emphasised, because even with primitive technology, it was possible to make something that was fun to play.

Today, of course, there are very few technological barriers to realising a creative vision. Modern 3D technology is more than capable of rendering photo-realistic scenes at convincing framerates; virtual reality allows us to immerse ourselves fully in virtual worlds; and many games have production values that rival the most expensive movies. But at the same time, alongside this improved technology has come the understanding that “video game” these days means far more than its literal definition. “Game” no longer means just something in which you prove your skill or master mechanics; it can refer to all manner of interactive entertainment, whether or not there’s a way for you to “lose” or “win”.

This aspect of things is what gets a lot of self-professed hardcore gamers’ backs up. “Gone Home isn’t a game!” they’ll cry, since Gone Home is the habitual poster boy for being “not a game”. “Visual novels aren’t games! Walking simulators aren’t games!”

Well… yes they are, assuming we’re using the term “game” as is most commonly used these days to refer to any form of interactive entertainment, however limited the interaction might be. They may not be the sort of games you want to play, but that doesn’t make them not games by the popular definition. All they show, really, is that the term “game” has really become woefully inadequate to describe the diversity of experiences we have these days. And none of them are “invalid” or “need to grow up”; some of them simply might not appeal to particular groups. And that is absolutely fine.

Games as art

I’ve been a believer in games as art since I played Final Fantasy VII for the first time, and its story blew me away with its emotional intensity and drama. It may be clichéd and laughable these days, but back on its original release, it was incredible. And I’ve held strongly to the fact that games are art ever since, with my understanding of what this really means changing and growing over time.

The mistake a lot of people make — Owen included — is assuming that “art” is synonymous with “narrative”, and this absolutely isn’t the case at all. Sure, some of the most explicitly “artistic” games out there place a strong focus on their narrative, but there’s plenty of artistry in purely mechanical games, too.

There are few places where this is more apparent than in the more technical side of arcade-style games: specifically, fighting games, shoot ’em ups and rhythm games. Fighting games — good ones, anyway — are precisely and immaculately tuned to be balanced in such a way that skilled players can make the on-screen characters do exactly what they want as the result of split-second decisions. Watching skilled fighting game players going at it is a thing of beauty, and something that relatively few of us can hope to master to quite such a degree.

Shoot ’em ups, meanwhile — again, good ones, anyway — are crafted in such a way as to be intricately choreographed, enemy waves hurtling onto the screen in such a way as to be both positioned in a way for the player to be able to defeat them and to be aesthetically pleasing at the same time. Bullet hell games become a ballet of the player sprite weaving through screen-filling, moving patterns that, although initially appearing chaotic, are in fact orderly, predictable and navigable.

As for rhythm games, well, anyone who has played Project Diva f on Hard difficulty or higher will know well the fact that playing that game is more playing a percussion part for an actual piece of music from memory than paying any attention to what is actually happening on screen at any given moment. Just as shoot ’em ups are choreographed, so too are rhythm games, with player inputs complementing the existing music in such a way as to immerse the player in the creative work in a way that simply isn’t possible if you’re listening in a more passive way.

Games are art, and art doesn’t mean narrative. Deal with it.

WTF is wrong with video games?

Really? Nothing. Nothing at all. There may be some individual games that you, personally, don’t care for or enjoy playing, but that doesn’t mean the amorphous concept of “video games” has anything wrong with it. It simply means that you’re not playing the right games for you.

This, I think, is a key problem with Owen’s argument that the “game” gets in the way of the “art” (meaning “narrative”, in his case). Some people like that. Some people like being rewarded with story, or in-game trinkets, or numbers going up or whatever — and that’s an important part of the gaming medium as a whole. It’s not something that is present everywhere in gaming, of course, and when inappropriate mechanics are shoehorned into a situation where it really doesn’t make sense, it can be jarring and uncomfortable. But a lot of designers these days have a pretty good idea of what elements go well together with what. Naughty Dog made the decision that crafting shivs in The Last of Us complemented the game’s post-apocalyptic storyline, and the game as a whole was well-received for its combination of storytelling and gameplay.

At the other end of the spectrum, of course, we have stuff like The Fruit of Grisaia, which is almost completely non-interactive — there are only five decisions to make in a single playthrough, three of which are totally irrelevant for four out of the five routes — and yet still manages to be incredibly compelling. So the kind of experience Owen is apparently looking for — interactive narrative without any requirement for skill — already exists, and is pretty damn good, too. Not only that, it comfortably exists alongside games that are pure skill — the aforementioned fighting, shooting and rhythm games — without anyone needing to tell each other that what they’re playing “isn’t a game” or that their experiences are somehow invalid.

I think the only W that is TF with video games right now is the unreasonable expectations and preconceptions some people come to the medium with. Video games are not everything to everyone, and neither should they be. No form of art is universally appealing to everyone, and video games are no exception. If you object to crafting shivs in The Last of Us, don’t play The Last of Us. If you object to wandering around a house without killing anything in Gone Home, don’t play Gone Home. It’s not as if you don’t have any other choices as to what you can experience from a medium that has become as incredibly broad and fascinating as gaming in 2015, and it can sometimes lead to pleasant surprises if you step out of your comfort zone and try something new once in a while.

Let’s not water down and homogenise gaming into a single, bland, lowest-common denominator, non-offensive, “universally appealing” form; let’s instead celebrate all the different experiences we can have on our computers, consoles, handhelds, phones and tablets. Let’s marvel in how easy it is for us to explore new worlds, to put ourselves in the shoes of another, to immerse ourselves in narratives more deeply than any other medium, to challenge our prejudices, to show our skills in ways that don’t require physical strength or even mobility and to engage our emotions in everything from a feeling of “fun” to blood-curdling “terror”.

WTF is wrong with video games? Absolutely nothing, so stop moaning and go play something.

#oneaday, Day 211: The Only Art Lesson You Will Ever Need

“I can’t draw!” I hear you cry, assuming you’re shouting about not being able to draw at this exact moment, which you probably aren’t. But no matter! Help is at hand. You don’t have to be an excellent artist to be able to draw things that are distinctive and interesting. I’m going to let you into the secrets of my own craft which you have doubtless seen throughout this blog. The art of the stickman.

I’ll tell you a secret: I can draw. Sort of. Not great, and I’ve never studied it or had any particularly formal training. But I can sort of draw. I just choose not to when it comes to the pictures on this blog, because ever since secondary school when my good buddy Ed “Roth Dog” Padgett and I discovered that stickmen are actually the most expressive things in the universe, we’ve often chosen to stick to stickmen, no pun intended. On a side note, Roth actually can draw, as you’ll see here.

But anyway. Let’s begin.

Step 1: Pose

When you’re drawing a stick person, the first thing you need to consider is what they’re going to be doing. Since the body is very simple and you’re going to spend most of the time on the face, this is a simple matter of making a quick decision. Most people stick to the traditional model (figure 1, but you can get stick figures doing all manner of weird and wonderful things (figure 2) even before you’ve put a face on them. Remember to add feet. Feet make poses more versatile. Adding feet to your stickmen is the difference between standing casually and tapping its foot impatiently.

Step 2a: Normal faces

The next step, which a lot of people leave out, stopping at step 1, is to add a face to your stickman. You only need three lines to put a face on a stickman. Two vertical lines for eyes, and one horizontal or curvy line for a mouth. These lines can be modified to produce a variety of expressions (figure 3).

Fig. 3: Possible stickman facial expressions.

Step 2b: Open-mouthed faces

If one of the closed-mouth expressions just isn’t expressing things expressively enough for you, then you may wish to consider opening your stickman’s mouth. What you put inside your stickman’s mouth can make a large amount of difference to what the expression means (figure 4).

Step 2c: Exaggerated faces

If none of the above faces are quite getting across what you are trying to say with your stickman, then simply throw any semblance of realism out of the window and do something ridiculous. These are stickmen, after all. They can do whatever the hell you damn well want (figure 5).

Step 3: Detail

Once you’ve come up with a pose and a face, all you need to do is add some individuality to the stickman by adding some detail. This is normally done via the medium of hair. Creating different stickman characters is a simple matter of giving them different hairstyles. No-one will ever notice that they have the same faces and poses. You can even change a stick person’s gender at the drop of a hat simply by changing the hairstyle (figure 6).

And with just those three steps, you are officially done! You have created your own unique character. Congratulations. You’re a cartoonist.

#oneaday, Day 90: Ebert in the Lions’ Den

Art is the process or product of deliberately arranging elements in a way to affect the senses or emotions. It encompasses a diverse range of human activities, creations, and modes of expression.

– Wikipedia

Roger Ebert gently and gracefully lowered his gazelle-scented testicles into the lions’ den that is the world of video games a couple of days ago. It’s pretty fair to say that he got a reaction. But was it the one he was after?

His contention was that “Video games can never be art”. A strong opening hypothesis. One which has been debated amongst gamers many a time too, with little agreement on the subject. Some feel that yes, games can be art, others feel that no, games can not be art – yet. There are very few people I know who are interested in the world of games – whether or not they think there is currently any evidence of artistic creativity in the medium right now – who would stand up and proudly announce that their chosen form of entertainment will never be art. As Ebert points out in his own article, Rick Wakeman once reminded us that “never is a long, long time”.

So how is Ebert, a respected film critic, so sure on this subject? Well, of course, he’s played some games to back this up, right?

Given the substance of the article, I’m not entirely convinced. He certainly talks about a few games – specifically Waco Resurrection (which I’d never heard of), Braid and Flower. I can’t comment on Waco, having never heard of this game until today, but Braid and Flower are both games that I have played and enjoyed, and I take exception to the manner in which Ebert responds to them – or doesn’t, as the case may be.

When discussing Braid, he mentions the game’s unique selling point – the time rewind mechanic. He even cites the justification for it – the thematic concept of “what if you could go back and fix your own mistakes?” He then spectacularly misses the point by comparing it to cheating in chess… or rather, “negating the discipline” of chess. I agree that taking back moves in chess is counter-productive in developing your own skills, but Braid is a game that is designed around that whole concept. Rather than being a sore loser’s way out, the time rewind mechanic in Braid is a key part of the experience. More to the point, it’s not used purely as a way of avoiding death, as he seems to believe. Instead, use of time and your past self is key to solving the puzzles in Braid, making apt and clever use of the main theme of the story in a practical sense.

It’s his comments on Flower that got me, though. It’s immediately apparent that he hasn’t even played the game at all from this:

We come to Example 3, “Flower”. A run-down city apartment has a single flower on the sill, which leads the player into a natural landscape. The game is “about trying to find a balance between elements of urban and the natural.” Nothing she shows from this game seemed of more than decorative interest on the level of a greeting card. Is the game scored? She doesn’t say. Do you win if you’re the first to find the balance between the urban and the natural? Can you control the flower? Does the game know what the ideal balance is?

“Can you control the flower?” Seriously? I would have thought that a respected critic would bother to actually experience the things he is commenting on before judging them. Flower is one of the most unique experiences there is on a games console – love it or hate it – and it eschews most traditional game mechanics in favour of being a piece of experiential entertainment. The experience you have playing Flower is entirely what you make of it. If you want to play it as a “game” and try to beat the levels as quickly as possible, you can. But most people who have spent any time floating on the wind and listening to that game’s gorgeous soundtrack will agree that there is definitely a sense of narrative to the whole thing. But unlike most games, this sense of narrative is entirely personal to the person playing it. I played it feeling enormously melancholy, feeling an inexplicable sense that someone or something had died. Nothing on the screen suggested that, but that’s what I felt while playing, to an almost overwhelming degree. Others have taken the rather more simplistic – but just as valid – interpretation that “flowers hate steel”.

The problem with Ebert’s comments is that they smack of condescension and arrogance. Ebert is a respected expert in his own field – justifiably so, I might add – and he clearly knows it. Therefore he seems to feel that this gives him the right to judge something which he very obviously knows very little about and has very little interest in pursuing further thanks to his own preconceptions.

Are games art? I don’t have an answer for you, but Justin McElroy’s excellent response to Ebert’s piece raises a very good point – the medium of “games” has evolved so much in such a short space of time that to call the diverse experiences we have with our computers and consoles today simply “games” is a complete misnomer. We interact with these pieces of electronic entertainment for a variety of reasons. Sometimes it’s escapist fantasy. Sometimes it’s role-playing. Sometimes it’s wish-fulfilment. Sometimes it’s a social activity. Sometimes it’s competition. Sometimes it’s to feel an emotional response.

There are as many reasons to “play” as there are “games”, so to damn the entire medium with a blanket statement – “games will never be art” – is misguided and short-sighted. They may not be art now in the eyes of some people, but that is not to say that they will not be in the future. If you take Wiki’s rather broad definition of “art”, listed at the top of this post, games (or whatever you want to call them) are already there.

I will leave you with two tweets from Cody “NintendoTheory” Winn, whom I think sums up the problem with debating this whole question pretty succinctly in the space of 280 characters:

Art/Fart

Now with pictures! Happy now? 🙂

The idea of “games as art” is an over-discussed topic and has been since the days of the later Final Fantasy games, which many regard as one of many points where video games just started to show their potential to tell interesting stories in interesting ways.

So I’m not going to talk about games as art – at least, not “mainstream” games. I want to take a moment to share a few curious experiences I’ve had recently. I hesitate to call all of these examples except one “games” by virtue of the fact that they’re not really traditional “games” as such, more interactive artistic works, and I think that’s fast becoming a genre of its own – something I’m all for.

A few of these games are probably quite well known by the side of the gamer community that is interested in this sort of thing, a couple of others you may not have heard of. So I hope that by the end of this post you might be inspired to check out some things a little bit outside the box. You may well find them pretentious, boring and crap – I’m sure many people do – but like any work of “art”, there are bound to be differing opinions, expectations and feelings about them.

So let’s jump in with probably the most well-known of the titles I’m going to discuss today. There may be spoilarz ahead… and you can click the game titles to visit the sites for them. (If you’re reading this on Facebook, you might not be able to. Click here to read this post properly.)

Braid

Braid is a game by Jonathan Blow that represents, to me, one of the interesting things about the Xbox 360 – the fact that this is a console with such diversity that triple-A “blockbuster” titles like Gears of War 2 and independent “arthouse” (for want of a better term) games like this can happily coexist on the platform quite comfortably. With the recent launch of the NXE and the Community Games project, I think it’s relatively safe to say that Braid will not be the last game of its type that we’ll see.

But what is Braid? Ostensibly it’s a platform game that largely centres around puzzles rather than action. The central game mechanic is an interesting “time rewind” system which has an interesting twist put onto it in each of the game’s worlds. In some worlds, you can simply rewind time if you make a mistake. In others, certain areas or objects are immune to time manipulation, so you can rewind time in the areas around the object and remain unaffected by this. In yet others, time winds forwards while you run to the right and backwards while you run to the left. It’s an interesting mechanic that makes for some absolute brain-benders, and I maintain that I’m far too stupid to ever solve the game without help.

Still, the interesting thing about Braid for me, and the thing which divides opinion the most, is the “meaning” behind it all. Each world is preceded by a series of text interludes, describing the main character’s quest to reach a princess in floaty, dreamy, vague language and tying the central mechanic of each world in with the main character’s conflicting emotions and feelings about time, place, love and loss as he proceeds through the game. It’s a fine line between “emo bullshit” and “existential masterpiece” – and there’s plenty of people on both sides of the debate on this one. One thing is certain though, everyone who has played the game has plenty to say about it, whether it’s good or bad.

Passage and Gravitation

These two “autobiographical” games by Jason Rohrer at first glance appear to be simplistic “retro” style games with eye-catching super low-res pixel art. But look into them a little deeper (or, if you need a little prompting, as I did, read the Creator’s Statement that Rohrer has thoughtfully posted for each game) and you’ll find that each of these two games represent a deeply personal exploration of a certain aspect of “life” to Rohrer – with Passage offering a look at mortality, companionship, ambition, love, loss and the balance between these things and Gravitation looking at the concept of fatherhood, the creative process and again, the balance between these things.

Each is represented very simply with the aforementioned low-resolution pixel art. But it’s the little things about the presentation and the games themselves that carry the deeper meaning. In Passage you start on the left of the screen, with more of the “world” – your life – stretching out ahead of you. Very shortly after the beginning, you have the choice of picking up a companion, who then stays with you until almost the end of the game. This makes you unable to reach some areas of the game, but it’s actually quite difficult to consider leaving her behind. If you’re me, anyway.

As you progress through the game, you gradually move across the screen towards the right side, meaning that at the beginning, you are looking forward to what is ahead, while at the end you are looking back on where you have just been. Shortly before the end, had you chosen to take your companion with you, she dies, leaving you as an old, lonely man left to trudge on towards his own death alone. This moment, although it is represented simply by the companion suddenly turning into a gravestone and the speed of movement of your character suddenly cutting to a quarter of what it was originally, is a hugely touching moment due to how understated it is. For me, it put across the idea that death is unglamorous, is unavoidable, but there is always someone left behind to trudge on without the person who is gone. I found it to be quite a beautiful, thought-provoking sentiment that is all the more poignant when you read Rohrer’s description of the meaning behind the game.

Gravitation, conversely, does not deal with a subject such as death, but rather the struggle that a creative person has between his art and his family. The game starts with you playing “catch” with a child figure. Each time you bounce the ball back to the child, a little heart appears above their head, but you cannot make any progress in the game itself by doing this. To score “points”, you have to leap up a huge tower, with gravity that is constantly changing, presumably representing varying degrees of motivation (or “mania” as the Rohrer puts it), and collect stars, which fall to the ground and form rocks. Following this, you have to drop back down and push these blocks into a furnace.

The twist is, the more stars that drop, the less able you are to get to your child to play with them, as the rocks that appear form directly in front of your child, blocking your way to her, and this also seems to have an effect on the gravity of the game. So it becomes a balancing act between play with your child and the “work” of pushing the blocks into the furnace.

These two games are two of my favourite examples of this subgenre because of their simplicity of presentation and gameplay, and the amount of “interpretation” that can be had by looking more closely at what is happening. I think it’s also really interesting to see “autobiographical” games, as Rohrer calls them, and he himself points out that this is not something that many developers have done as yet.

The Majesty of Colors

This is another game that chooses to use 8-bit style pixel art as its means of presentation, giving it a distinctive look and character that seems entirely appropriate for the game. I can’t pin down why this is, but I love it. This is also the first of two games hosted on Kongregate, which originally became my favourite Flash games site purely for the presence of Desktop Tower Defense following my brother’s recommendations, but seems to be developing into an interesting community of indie developers, “interesting game enthusiasts” like myself, and illiterate 12 year olds who just want to play stuff with badly-drawn animé-style characters. Fortunately, like the Xbox 360, the groups seem to coexist quite happily, meaning we get titles like this.

In The Majesty of Colors, you play a betentacled sea monster. The game opens in black and white with balloons floating past your face and the “monster’s” inner monologue represented as text across the top of the screen. Grabbing a balloon and bringing it close to the monster’s eyes suddenly brings the world into vibrant colour, and the story itself begins. Essentially, the player can choose to manipulate the humans who appear on the scene either through violence or helping them, and this eventually leads to one of five endings, each of which involves the “monster” (whom, it transpires, is actually a person having a dream) awakening in very different ways.

I kind of don’t want to say anything else about this one, because I believe it’s worth experiencing. It’s a simplistic game with not a lot of “point” to it as a game, but it’s very much an interactive work of art to me.

Coil

The first of two games by Edmund McMillen, Coil is a self-professed game with no instructions that requests you “keep an open mind while playing”. It’s presented in a rather abstract manner, with mouse-driven mini-games interspersed with Braid-style text interludes. The story of the game appears to be deliberately ambiguous to provoke discussion, but the consensus from many people seems to be that it is about a woman who was raped and the feelings she develops towards the child that is the product of that incident.

Like The Majesty of Colors, I believe this is a “game” that’s somewhat open to interpretation, and another that will probably split opinion. The lack of instructions can make it challenging to progress, but it’s worth persevering with the story to see what you think of it.

Aether

Another from McMillen, Aether seems to be a rather personal story about childhood feelings of inadequacy in the eyes of others. Players swing through space atop the back of a curious blob-like monster trying to solve simple puzzles on planets to restore colour to their lives. The game is a somewhat abstract “journey into imagination” that seems to represent an individual’s struggle for validation and acceptance by others. It also has some fabulously hypnotic dynamically remixing music which really helps with the atmosphere.

So there you have them. Pretentious crap or an interesting method of displaying a work of art and telling a deeply personal story? I vote the latter, though I am more than prepared to hear people disagree, which they no doubt will!