Existential Horror and Gameplay Compulsion in Dark Souls

Horror in video games is a fairly well-trod region. Some developers approach the genre through grotesque enemy design, pitting the player against hordes of disgusting monsters, often with a fair degree of gore (e.g. Splatterhouse). Others focus on place and time, building games in Gothic settings (e.g. Castlevania). The best, though, strive for an atmospheric approach to horror that combines narrative, setting, action, and gameplay mechanics to provide a totalizing horror experience. When used to its full potential, the video game medium provides an authentic horror experience that film and literature simply cannot achieve.

Like so many others, I had my first taste of horror in the medium when I played Capcom's Resident Evil in 1996. After watching a ridiculous cut scene in which unintentionally hilarious B-movie style actors delivered some semblance of story my young could not care less about, my friend handed me his controller, gave me a brief rundown of the controls, and set me loose in a mansion infested with walking corpses. Unused to the Playstation controller, I took a while to learn how to move Jill Valentine across the screen, but, after some practice, I began navigating the halls like a pro--until my first encounter with a monster whereupon I forgot what any of those damn buttons did. In that moment, everything came together--the shambling corpse, the lack of ammunition, the limited visibility of awkward camera angles, the knowledge that my character's death would lead to a restart that would undo what felt like significant progress--and created not just a great moment in my subjective gaming history, but also a sincere state of panic. This, I thought, is what horror feels like: hopelessness in the face of a foe that I knew meant certain death. Jill Valentine did not survive the encounter, and it was purely my fault. That instance would never be duplicated for me in a survival horror game. Sure, I had my fair share of scares in Dead Speace, and I felt the bizarre atmosphere of Bioshock. But nothing came close to replicating that moment of genuine terror...until I started playing Dark Souls.

I had played it's predecessor, Demon's Souls, but I never got into it. I gave it two serious tries, but I found that the game required more time to put into it than I actually had to give. But something about Dark Souls' open world and disturbing beauty drew me to it. In Dark Souls, the player's character is a nameless undead who wanders around landscape ripped straight from someone's darkest, depraved nightmare. Beginning at a place called the "Undead Asylum," the player journeys beyond the walls of his/her prison to fulfill some prophecy about something because some demons did bad stuff and it needs fixing, maybe. And that's about all you get, if you don't go to great lengths to find out the story, and it, like so many of the game's oddments, is, by design, withholding. I have no idea why my character must do what he does, and the game gives little to no direction (so much so that an internet community has grown up around trying to help newcomers and experts alike). The player must find his/her way through a demonic hellscape, and damn near everything out there is hunting for blood. It is this initial feeling of despair and unknowing that sets the tone for the game.

I was neither / Living nor dead, and I knew nothing /
Looking into the heart of light, the silence. --T.S. Eliot

The tone of utter hopelessness is not the only link the game has to the horror genre. Dark Souls offers a vast array of demonic creatures and terrifying bosses that leave the player literally shaking after a narrow victory. They attack with ground-shaking power, and they outmatch the player at every turn, if he/she is not careful. The game is not merely content with providing a borderline insurmountable challenge; the developers designed the character models to be visually revolting and intimidating. One look at the Gaping Dragon guarding the key to Blighttown is enough to turn the stomach of any seasoned player:

"I have looked upon all that the universe has to hold of horror, and even the skies
of spring and the flowers of summer must ever afterward be poison to me.
But I do not think my life will be long. " -- H.P. Lovecraft

The Gaping Dragon plays off the player's initial disgust at the creature as it emerges slowly from an abyss, and, while the player's shock at seeing the demon has not subsided, it advances on the player with devastating attacks, leaving the player helpless. It will kill you numerous times before you kill it. Another ungodly creature is the Butcher, a large masculine-looking creature, which the player finds out via an NPC is actually a female. She carries a giant cleaver--a Freudian symbol for castration if ever there were one--which she uses to hack and slash at the player, and a burlap sack obscures her face. This faceless giant is quite reminiscent of Silent Hill 2's Pyramid Head, largely believed to be the most horrific video game monster ever created (likely due to his own status as a metaphor for perverted masculinity). These two examples of the horrors the player elects to face when he/she boots up the game. Everything wants nothing more than to eviscerate the player in the most brutal fashion possible.

Though I have mostly compared Dark Souls to games in the survival-horror genre, Dark Souls is not a survival horror game. Its mechanics stem from a strict RPG tradition, so much so, in fact, that the game can easily alienate the unseasoned gamer--which is, of course one of the game's many goals. Casual gamers need not apply. The game is so alienating, in fact, that its multiplayer component (a complex system of entering others' game worlds for good or ill, cryptic messages, seeing ghostly apparitions of other players, and replaying the last moment's of another player's in-game by touching bloodstains left on the ground) is only hinted at through NPCs and item descriptions. Since player is almost always alone, seeing the specter of another player reminds the player that others share his/her fate--but they remain separated by some force that has sundered the world. The ultimate payoff is that the player must evaluate what it means to play with someone online. The connection online gameplay provides is only fleeting and superficial, but when strangers team up to take down an impressively difficult boss, the feeling of gratification is on par with beating an entire game. Players blink in and out of each others' worlds, and as well, each others' lives, inviting a metatextual pondering of existence and connection in a world of abject despair. Can we really know the people we play with? The game posits that we cannot, that they are just hollowed shells of people projected on a screen--bodies turned into ghosts by ones and zeroes. These interactions, nevertheless, are meaningful in that they help us traverse some virtual wasteland, and maybe that's all we can ever ask for in online interaction. The game offers a grim truth, beautiful in its bleak frankness.

"Those who have crossed / With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom /
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost / Violent souls, but only /
As the hollow men / The stuffed men." --T.S. Eliot

It is here in which the true horror of Dark Souls stirs, opens it jaws, and howls.  Whereas most horror games choose to keep the elements of horror within the game itself, Dark Souls dares to reach out and infect the player's psyche.  In her review of Dark Souls, Keza MacDonald writes, "It appears to be FROM's mission to send you into harrowing spirals of despondency and self-pity at every opportunity," acknowledging that game is designed to infect and twist the player's psyche.  Should one choose to play the game, he/she will inevitably ask the question, "Why the bleeding hell do I keep playing?"  And then it strikes.  The player no longer plays because it's enjoyable; he/she plays because success after repeated failure is an addiction.  Gaming becomes compulsion, not unlike gambling, except the player constantly bets hours instead of chips.  The player willingly undergoes the constant threat of failure in a world where respite is a luxury not afforded when it is often most needed.  Danger lurks not only around every corner but also long after the system is powered down, as the player constantly wonders about better strategies to get past that one boss that seems impossible.  Losing thousands of souls due to a misstep or an unknown ambush is certainly cause for despair and anger, but the persistent player continues to fight, using each failure as a teaching tool.  Death and punishment serves as the game's central pedagogy, turning the player into a student.  The game actively trains you to rethink what it is to die in a virtual space.  Through some perverse game coded witchcraft, the developers turn failure into progress, an uncomfortable inversion of what we assume video games should do.

The horror influences in From Software's Dark Souls are clear in creature design and Gothic architecture, but it is the horrific nature of punishing gameplay that pushes the bounds of what video game horror can be.  A novel or film can linger in the reader/viewer's mind, but only in games can the player actively participate in his/her own waking nightmare.  As I make my way through the dilapidated hellscape of Dark Souls, I can't help but be reminded of the poet T.S. Eliot's poems The Waste Land and The Hollow Men (both from which I have quoted in the picture captions above) which are both known for their beautiful bleakness.  The same could be said of From Software's Dark Souls (as well as its predecessor, Demon's Souls), as the game design is both elegant and horrifying.  It's a journey into a Nietzschean abyss that doesn't just stare back.  It rends the player with claw and fang and leaves him/her with questions as to why he/she continues to play while spurring the player downward into a world of unspeakable horror, only claw back out again.

Cheers,

--David

Beenox's Amazing Spider-Man: An Issue of Trust

In an earlier post, I explained why I was excited for Beenox's new Spider-Man game. I did not like Shattered Dimensions, so I didn't bother playing Edge of Time. Nevertheless, I felt drawn to The Amazing Spider-Man simply because I wanted to swing. After reading Greg Miller's IGN review (and several others), I decided to buy the game despite its lukewarm reception. Now that I have completed the game and spent substantial time with it, I find that the game can be a lot of fun, but I do not think I'll return to it. I agree with most reviews that if you come in with low expectations, you'll be pleasantly surprised. Overall, though, Spider-Man fans and gamers alike should ask for more control and nuance, as well as a certain level of trust in the relationship between player and product.

The Amazing Spider-Man has its great moments. Beenox really nails the Spider-Man aesthetic--not so much in the comic book sense, but it seems like a world where Spider-Man fits. The story and characters come together and create a genuine atmosphere, and in no where is this more present than Spider-Man's swinging movements. The camera's close focus on Spider-Man's movements brings the web-slinger to life as he thwips around Manhattan. The web rush mechanic, although simple, sets in motion some stunning traversal animations. Just looking at this gameplay video reveals the elegance of Spider-Man's swing animation:

Bringing the game back to Manhattan proves successful. As I said in my earlier post, Spider-Man needs his concrete jungle to be Spider-Man just as Batman needs Gotham to be the Dark Knight. It's an absolute thrill to swing around the city, and the numerous comic book pages scattered throughout give the player impetus to explore every corner of the island. The buildings shine, and the changes in time of day breathe life into the city. Due to poor to middling draw distance, though, sometimes the streets look deserted, but this changes as Spider-Man falls toward them, catching himself at the last moment, whether you want to or not. And therein lies my biggest gripe with the game. Beenox does not trust the player to control Spider-Man.

The repetitive mission structure doesn't bother me. I am more or less unfazed by the indoor missions; they neither interest nor bore me. The sometimes awkward or uninspired character models have no real bearing on my dissatisfaction with the title. And I could ultimately care less about spoilers for the upcoming film. The problem I have with The Amazing Spider-Man is the fact that the game does not seem to respect the player's ability to work to become the titular hero. In what is undoubtedly an attempt to be more cinematic, the game moves Spider-Man almost automatically, wresting control and consequence from the player.

IGN community members (myself included) have made comparisons between The Amazing Spider-Man and Rocksteady's Batman: Arkham City, and these are not without warrant. Beenox borrows heavily from the Arkham formula, especially in combat and stealth mechanics. Spidey strikes from the shadows, and he takes on groups of enemies with the Batman's method of attack, reversal, jump, and stun (in this game, you can stun enemies with webbing). While this combat system works, most encounters left me feeling bored and cheated. The system works in the Batman Arkham games because Batman's combat style is precise and punishing, incapacitating enemies with surgical efficiency. Spider-Man's fighting style relies more on speed and disorientation; the character flips, webs, punches, kicks, and bounces all around the combat area in order to confuse his opponents while administering a barrage of pain and wisecracks. Beenox clearly understands Spider-Man's spectacular style as the character moves quickly in combat, but the Webhead doesn't perform these actions because the player makes him--he moves this way because simply pressing one button will launch the character into a dynamic finisher involving web shots and a beatdown that the player can watch without touching his/her controller. This problem occurs most glaringly in boss battles when Spidey leaps over giant robotic limbs and kicks the crap out of weak points, all with the press of a button.

Yes, you eventually fight it. Or, rather, game kind of does it for you, but it still counts, right?

Now, gamers are not strangers to quick time events, but we usually weaken the boss first with a (hopefully) intricate and intuitive combat system. Most of the boss fights here, at least the larger ones, employ a "strike here" type of gameplay where you web rush to a certain point on the enemy, watch the attack action, and retreat. Lather, rinse, repeat. Spider-Man performs wildly acrobatic and impressive moves without requiring complex inputs, thus negating satisfying feedback to the player. As a result, I never felt like I could control Spider-Man. I felt like a mediator between the onscreen Spider-Man character model and the internal systems of the game that make him move. It feels like Spider-Man lite, not a Spider-Man experience.

These issues appear in the locomotion of the character as well. Simply holding the web swing button down allows for what appears as radical flips and gravity-defying feats. As I mentioned, web rush moves look impressive, but for the player, it can also feel cheap. I wanted to be able to place the webs on the buildings with a mechanic similar to Activision's Spider-Man 2. (Note: I will never understand why a developer cannot keep the swing mechanics from Spider Man 2 in tact and build an open world game with an original story from there) I wanted to save Spider-Man at the last millisecond of free fall with a flick of his wrist right before he becomes a red and blue on the city street. But it's hard to feel satisfied with a quick save when the underlying architecture removes fall damage from the game. This twisted Manhattan--where potential death at the hands of physics is no cause for alarm--undercuts the importance of Spider-Man's sacrifice for the city and its citizens because in a world without danger, being a superhero is profoundly less super. An invincible hero, after all, is a boring hero...or Superman (I'm kidding, kinda).

I can honestly say that there are parts of the game I enjoy. I love swinging, and the combat works fairly well. For Spider-Man fans, it's worth playing. But I have my reservations about the way Beenox insists that this game provides an authentic Spider-Man experience when it removes complexity and nuance from the controls. Unfortunately, this move is indicative of the current state of video game development that infantilizes the individual with the controller in his/her hand. So seldom do games trust the player enough to find his/her own way in the game's system or take time to learn complex controls that, when it happens, it becomes novelty or niche (i.e. Dark/Demon's Souls). In order for the game to teach the player a satisfying input system, the developers need to trust the player to fail and to use that failure to learn. The Amazing Spider-Man swings along at great height and top speed, but it does so with a safety web the player does not need nor should want. We're all still waiting for a great caliber Spider-Man game, and this one is far from that ideal. Maybe the figure on the screen can do whatever a spider can, but he does so without much help from the player, which makes me wonder whether I actually played the game at all.

Cheers,

--David

E3 2012: Game news killed the video game star?

I always look forward to E3 like some of friends look forward to the NFL draft. I love the announcements, the energy, the big three trying to outdo one another, and, of course, hours and hours of new videos of the games we are all anticipating. But this year was different. A friend of mine asked me how I felt about E3 this year, and, like more or less anyone else who reads this post, I answered with a full, resounding..."meh." It was "ok," and there were a couple of surprises (more on that later). Nevertheless, I cannot help but feel like something was missing, and I'm not the only one. I found myself a bit fatigued, and (dare I say it) a little bored. And it's about damn time.

To be fair, we gamers are a ravenous lot. We consume games and gaming news at such an alarming rate that new gaming websites are popping up all over the place, competing for our views and trying to be the first with the newest, boldest stories. You need only look at the comments section anywhere on IGN, Game Informer, Gametrailers, or any numerous other sites to find evidence of our voracious appetite--these sections do not stay blank for long. We live in the information age, an era that prizes information on a global scale more than any other time in world history. Mass media saturation exists because we love it, we crave it. It's an addiction, and we're all hooked (my self included--I'm writing a blog for God's sake).

So what went wrong with the flow of information at E3 this year? Absolutely nothing. E3 did what it needed to. Microsoft, Sony, and Nintendo all came out and made announcements about upcoming games, and the big N even showed off a good bit of Wii U. There were mistakes, to be sure. Microsoft's ending with Modern Warfare Black Ops 2 and it's leaning on the Kinect were admittedly lame choices. Sony's pushing the Vita was understandable, if underwhelming, but the augmented reality story book was 20 minutes of "what the hell is this." And Nintendo's lack of solid first-party software and it's reliance on the Wii U's ability to sell new versions of games that a lot of people already own make this new system a hard sell.

Yet for almost every lackluster announcement there was something to look forward to. Tomb Raider, Borderlands 2, Last of Us, God of War: Ascension, Far Cry 3, Dishonored, Luigi's Mansion 2, New Super Mario Bros., Hitman: Absolution, Amazing Spider Man, Call of Duty: Black Ops 2 all look great, and they hold significant promise for the upcoming season and next year. We truly have a lot to look forward to.

But we already knew that. As per usual, in the weeks before E3, new announcements were being made about these games, and we, the avid readers we are, devoured that information as it was fed to us by sites like IGN, Gamespot, GameTrailers, and Kotaku. So, when the games were "revealed" on stage or in live demos, we watched, but we didn't salivate--at least not collectively. It's hard to get crazy amped about games that we heard about a week, a month, hell, a year prior to its presentation. We saw what was coming up, but like a crew of Oliver Twists, we always ask for more porridge...though we never seem to get the switch instead of the bowl...

Please. sir, can I have some more?

This is not our fault, and this is certainly not the fault of the online gaming news networks. IGN editors do there jobs and they do them well because we ask them, we demand them to. In fact, "fault" is perhaps a poor word choice for my part. I think what we saw manifest at E3 this year was the logical result of high expectation confronting the reality in the information age: with the saturation of news comes the consequence of no longer being surprised. We are, near literally, products of our time. Sure, we may get something awesome like Watch Dogs that we weren't expecting, but it's the exception that proves the proverbial rule. There's nothing "wrong" or "faulty" about this information model. It's just the way things are. Developers and publishers could keep tighter lids on their projects, but then what would happen to sites and writers who make their livings by reporting such news? It's a fragile information ecosystem, and it's constantly in flux. We all have our parts to play here.

Gamers are a forward-looking group, always awaiting our next meal. Appropriately, I can't help but wonder if next year's conference will offer the same outcome. We know there will be a new generation of consoles already, so that announcement will not be a surprise. The specifics of these machines and their software, however, will offer a bit more chance for excitement and anticipation. It's likely, however, that we'll know about them before the conference, as well as a few games to be on display, and it's equally likely that we'll see a few surprises as well. But, the smart money says that we'll see more of what we know than what we don't. Either way, we'll lap it up as quickly as it's delivered to us. After all, we're still very, very hungry.

Cheers,

--David