I love being able to share my hobby with my son. Wyatt and I had fun watching the gameplay demo for Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order.
A long time ago (2014), in a living room far far away, I asked Wyatt to help me create my Dragon Age: Inquisition character.
We created a:
- Scrawny Elf
- With a facial tattoo that covers his entire face
- Who carries a two-handed sword
- And has a deep voice
I loved playing as him.
I sunk hours into Dragon Age: Inquisition until I hit the wall and got stuck in the game. At this point, I am sure, a new game entered my orbit, and I blasted away from my elf and the inquisition.
I loaded Dragon Age: Inquisition once more last night. Combat/gameplay rhythms were unfamiliar after being away from the game for so long. My elf had not changed… but I have.
Unlike reading multiple books at the same time, I think video games are harder not to play fully invested in. With big AAA games, I tend to forget about the:
- Controls (muscle memory does help with skill-based games)
- Story (I’m thankful for the games that feature a story recap)
- How much I cared/was invested in characters
So I wanted to ask you:
- How long is too long to come back to a game?
- At what point do you give up/delete/move on because you simply do not care anymore?
Let me know in the comments below!
GALAK-Z is an 80’s spaceship anime stitched onto the vest of a first responder. Much of the game is spent traveling, waiting for a call to action. Once an enemy sighted, all out chaos ensues due to poor controls. The game fails to stick the arcade-gaming/skill-demanding gameplay. This results in a fun-looking game that feels more like work.
GALAK-Z is not the paramedic, firefighter, or police officer you want coming to your aid.
The idea of weaving exposition into the narrative, and then weaving the narrative into the gameplay itself, is a kind of holy grail for developers—and it’s one I believe The Witness achieves, even as it manages the additional impressive feat of creating a compelling conversation between science and religion.
I am not a fan of the horror genre. Life has enough real horrors already.
The City of Yharnam has become my new prison. My attempt to break out of my gaming comfort zone and explore the Souls genre. Bloodborne demands mechanical mastery. The ability to read individual animation frames, seeking vulnerability. Discovering that sweet spot at which to sidestep evade and attack. One cannot get too cocky. Spamming attacks with Diablo-like gusto. Some attacks take a moment or two longer. Leaving your character open to damage. Death brings about a refinement of skill. Death the great teaching tool.
I think I died at least 20 times trying to take on the first monster in Bloodborne. No, no, make that 30. No weapon in hand, no help, I struggled through Death Education 101. And yet, I felt compelled to continue.
“Tab, I think this is the meanest game I’ve ever played.”
In a moment of triumph, I beat the first shadow monster and made my way outside. Only to face a man with an axe. He died. Rounding the corner, I ran into two more guys with axes. I let my guard down, just for a moment. The game tells me in a simple manner, “You Died”. Yes, yes, I did.
Bloodborne is definitely not one of those games that I will be playing in front of Wyatt. The Gothic atmosphere, showers of blood, and creepy monsters all have the makings of a fantastic nightmare.
For me, the Gothic aesthetic is just there. I had thought it would bug me with my aversion to the horror genre. Like Neo from The Matrix, I don’t really see the in-game world. All I see are moments to evade, attack, and not get killed. Bloodborne appeals to that mechanical side of me that loves pure gameplay. Gameplay that demands your absolute best.
Yharnam is my home now. A digital mosquito bite that I want to itch.