Showing posts with label video games. Show all posts
Showing posts with label video games. Show all posts

Sunday, September 13, 2009

The Case Against Super Mario Galaxy


On June 2, 2009, during their E3 press conference, Nintendo officially announced the sequel to what has surely become the most widely beloved Wii game so far: Super Mario Galaxy. The trailer that was shown seemed to confirm everyone’s hopes for what such a sequel would be like: more of the same, but with some new elements introduced, such as being able to ride Yoshi, who was prominently featured in the trailer. I have just one question, though. Why does anyone want another game like Galaxy? For that matter, why did so many people fall in love with the original? Numerous video game journalists sang its praises in reviews, and several web sites named it as their Wii Game of 2007, if not their Overall Game of 2007. Fan response has been much the same, with very few dissenting voices present. As of now, it is one of the most critically acclaimed games of all time, according to at least one aggregate review site, metacritic.com. I, however, am genuinely unable to understand why so many were enthralled with it. In this essay, I will detail what I perceive to be Galaxy’s main problems and relate these issues to how they were treated by the majority of video game journalists who reviewed the game.

Before I begin, I must establish that I have nothing to say against Galaxy’s controls, graphics, sound, music, story, or any other similar element. Rather, my sole point of focus is Galaxy’s fundamental system of gameplay and the satisfaction that is derived from proceeding through that system of gameplay (that is to say, how fun it is to play through the game).

Many critics gleefully assured readers that Galaxy really was the “spiritual sequel” to Mario 64, which everyone had long been anticipating after being so soundly disappointed by Sunshine. They wrote such statements as “it is Super Mario 64 in outer space,” or “this is a straightforward spiritual successor to the N64 classic.” However, any close examination of these two games, as well as Sunshine, proves such sentiments to be patently and blatantly false. Mario 64’s core gameplay was based on the concept of exploring three-dimensional worlds (which, though finite, were still large enough to give players a sense of enjoyment through exploration and discovery) and completing challenges and fulfilling requirements to attain stars. Sunshine retained this basic model, albeit changing it slightly by giving Mario a water pack that allowed him to hover in the air for a few seconds. Galaxy, however, regardless of how many reviewers claim the opposite, almost completely dismisses the mechanic of exploration in favor of linearity. In Galaxy, the vast majority of gameplay revolves around circumnavigating rather small planetoids and, as before, completing challenges and fulfilling requirements so that Mario can travel to the next small planetoid and then repeat the process until he gets a star. Exploration as a core gameplay mechanic is almost completely nonexistent. Interestingly enough, before Galaxy’s release, at least some reviewers seemed concerned about the possible limitations of the fundamental gameplay system I just described. Strangely, though, after the game came out, all such qualms had seemingly vanished. Based on the content of multiple reviews, this most likely happened for two reasons.

First, because of the inclusion of some gameplay environments that were not just little spheres, many critics felt that their fears of limited environments had been alleviated and said as much in their reviews. However, these environments, being much smaller than a typical Mario 64 or Sunshine level, are positively cramped in comparison. Inscrutably, though, virtually no critics seemed to think this was the case, with many praising galaxy for having “huge expansive worlds to explore” and being able to instill “the sense of wonder and exploration [which] is as mind-blowing as you remember.”

The second reason hardly anyone seemed concerned about Galaxy’s relative linearity is that, quite simply, most critics didn’t care, or even recognize it, at least not in the written reviews. There were some that noticed, though. They wrote of Galaxy’s “pseudo-linearity” and the fact that “the majority of the platforms are formed by smaller and condensed structures requiring little exploration.” However, most reviewers, as mentioned before, extolled Galaxy for preserving the idea of having “several large, open levels for you to explore” and “large open environments.” Even the critics who acknowledged that Galaxy was linear compared to Mario 64 and Sunshine claimed that the mere inclusion of the aforementioned “large open environments” balanced this out. It doesn’t, though. The much-lauded “open environments” are pale shadows compared to those found in Mario 64 and Sunshine.

NintendoWorldReport probably came the closest to hitting the nail on the head in explaining this gap between perception and reality. It was their review that cited Galaxy’s “pseudo-linearity,” and they went on to say that it allowed Mario to “go back to [his] 2-D platforming roots rather than the wide-open, but less interesting seek-and-find nature of prior games.” Other reviewers, consciously or not, evidently agreed. (At least one wrote enthusiastically about how wonderful it was to not have to go on red/blue coin, or even regular coin, quests anymore, apparently not placing the “purple coin” challenges in the same category.) I, however, am less than thrilled with Galaxy’s linearity for one crucial reason: it makes the game too easy.

When getting stars becomes only a matter of moving from Point A to Point B by completing simple tasks and fulfilling requirements, with very little else to do otherwise, finding all the stars in the game, much less completing the main quest, becomes tragically routine, a foregone conclusion. Granted, there are a handful of exceptionally difficult stars, but the overwhelming majority are hardly taxing. What’s worse, 32 of the game’s 121 stars are not original missions. Rather, they are either variations of other stars—“speed run” (4), “daredevil” (5), and “fast foes” (2)—or “purple coin” challenges (17), most of which are quite straightforward and have exactly 100 purple coins, no more, no less. (The other 4 stars are “cosmic Mario” races, which are themselves rather simple and similar to each other.)

Stupefyingly, multiple reviewers commended these comet stars as proof that “the Galaxy team [refused] to take the easy way out in getting the most from the worlds they have created,” and that “things aren’t needlessly reused here to lengthen the quest,” and that they are NOT “just recycling the same content,” even though that is precisely what they do. Sadly, very few seemed to have any complaint against Galaxy’s overall difficulty level, with a few exceptions, notable among them Nintendo Power’s reviewer: “Unfortunately, Galaxy as a whole doesn’t seem to be able to overcome the industry’s slow, steady march toward easier games; in particular, the puzzle-oriented elements seem especially simple. The game is still challenging, for sure, but it won’t keep hard-core gamers up at night.” The fact that this is coming from Nintendo’s own magazine makes it all the more telling. Two other choice comments on this issue come from the Wiire—“Gamers raised on Mario platformers won’t find much of Galaxy to be terribly difficult”—and Cubed3—“The general difficulty of Galaxy is a bit questionable.”

If that weren’t enough, though, more evidence indicates Galaxy’s comparative lack of challenge. It was one of the many titles included in Nintendo’s “Wii would like to play” advertisement campaign. That such a “hardcore” game would be marketed in the same manner as titles that are supposedly being marketed to casual gamers speaks volumes about who the game is really for and the kinds of development decisions that were made to make it palatable for them. Finally, Reggie Fils-Aime, Nintendo of America’s own president, said something very interesting in an interview at E3 2009: “[I]f the first Galaxy was maybe more inviting in terms of all the audiences, what Galaxy 2 is going to be is maybe a little more Nintendo fan/harder gamer focused. A little tougher….It’s going to be, if you will, for more of that passionate Mario fan who grew up getting challenged with Super Mario World.” The very fact that he is making such an assurance, though, is next to an open admission of Galaxy’s comparative simplicity.

Nevertheless, Galaxy’s level of difficulty was a total non-issue for most reviewers. Quite the contrary, several of them had kind words to say about the challenge it presented: according to some, Galaxy is “a stiff platforming challenge” and it “definitely offers considerable challenge.” Those who did even mention difficulty as a possible problem usually dismissed it as minor. Based on the reviews, at least some of them did so because even if they found the game a bit easy, they still thoroughly enjoyed what it entailed. The thrills of the game itself—flying through space, platforming through multiple gravities, using fun power-ups, spin-attacking enemies, collecting star bits, and marveling at the game’s beautiful graphics, creative level themes, sound and music—made such issues as difficulty, or indeed, linearity, irrelevant.

Nearly everyone, whether they were conscious of the differences between Mario 64 and Galaxy or not, hailed the latter as varied and beautiful, even groundbreaking, but most importantly, deliriously fun. I, however, was left cold. I expected one thing and got another, something that was a lot like what I had been expecting, yet was also completely and horribly unlike it. What was worse, virtually no one else seemed to realize how different it really was. If people are aware of the changes and like them, I can accept that, but I cannot tolerate the idea that Galaxy is just “Mario 64 in space.” It is not, whether people realize it or not.

Reborn From the Ashes...Or Still Smoldering? The Character of Phoenix Wright Since He Lost His Badge

“He still feels the pain now, you can see it in his eyes.”

-Detective Gumshoe, GS1

Gumshoe may have been talking about Miles Edgeworth in this quote, but now those same words could apply to a certain former attorney. Anyone who has played GS4 can instantly confirm that Phoenix Wright is not the same person he was in the previous games. So what was responsible for this “turnabout” in character? Or did he really change that much at all? To begin answering this question, let’s start by taking a look at the past.

The previous titles in the series give us a solid and consistent idea of Phoenix’s personality. Indeed, we know him better than any other character in the series so far. (Not surprising, considering he’s been the protagonist for three games in a row.) In court, he’s headstrong and determined, shifting between confidence and despair as the case at hand twists and turns. As a person, he’s a down-to-earth realist surrounded by slightly eccentric friends (Maya, Gumshoe, Larry) and really eccentric acquaintances (Ron DeLite, Wendy Oldbag, almost any character in the entire series). Above all, though, he is an optimist at heart who believes in others, even when they ultimately don’t deserve his good faith (Matt Engarde). This general framework of his character stays mostly the same for the first three games. However, between GS3 and GS4, seven years pass, and a lot can happen in that time.

When GS4 starts, Phoenix is being tried for murder for the third time. This detail, though, is probably the last thing that would occur to someone who has known Phoenix in years past. Most likely, the first thing the player will notice is his appearance. Gone are his trim blue suit and red tie, and his characteristic spiky hair is well-covered by the beanie atop his head. Instead, a loose gray hoodie and dark pants greet the player; sandals cover his feet and a layer of stubble is clearly visible upon his face. His lowered eye-lids and lazy smile alone are probably enough to disturb series veterans, but his appearance is barely comparable to his behavior. He is on trial for his life, but he seems largely unconcerned about his predicament. What’s more, he even seems to be enjoying himself throughout the proceedings. Furthermore, he never betrays any sign of worry, fear or uncertainty. Ultimately, Phoenix is acquitted, but the player is left still wondering: “What on earth happened to this man, this character I once knew and loved?!” A good illustration of this feeling occurs when Phoenix tells Apollo that he forged the playing card that convicted Kristoph Gavin.

Apollo: But…But you can’t do something like that and call yourself an attorney!

Phoenix: Who’s calling themselves an attorney, Apollo?

Apollo: So it’s true… The rumor is true! Seven years ago…

Phoenix: …None of that matters much now, does it?

Phoenix knows full well he is innocent of the forgery from seven years ago, and he could tell Apollo so, too. Yet he chooses not to. He just lets Apollo think what we will. He also takes Apollo’s subsequent upper-cut without demur. His apparent lack of emotion—it could even be called apathy—is truly shocking to those who knew him before. “Did he really just say that? How could he have changed so much, how could he be so insouciant?!” The explanation behind it is arguably both predictable and unexpected.

The obvious cause behind Phoenix’s apparent personality overhaul is the outcome of the Zak Gramarye trial, his last trial. He was given forged evidence to use, completely unaware of its illegality. After presenting it in court, he was disgracefully stripped of his attorney’s badge at the hands of a malicious colleague—Kristoph Gavin—whose sole motivation behind his actions was foolish pride and personal contempt. The circumstances behind this spiteful act were definitely a crushing blow to Phoenix and his general faith in people. At first glance, it seems he could still be suffering acute emotional damage. However, though he is undoubtedly still affected by his personal tragedy, a key piece of insight may tell us another part of the story.

It’s harder to analyze a character when you can’t read his thoughts (the majority of GS4 is played from Apollo’s perspective, of course). Accordingly, the portion of the game involving the MASON System is that much more valuable, as it allows us to know how Phoenix really thinks and feels during the time frame of the fourth game, not just what we can observe from a third-person perspective. As it turns out, the overall tone and substance of Phoenix’s words and thoughts are not notably different from those of previous games. Two great examples of this can be seen when Phoenix visits Drew Studios after Drew Misham’s murder. First, upon examining the miniature human model:

Phoenix: OBJECTION!

…I just have to do that when I see this pose.

I can’t believe it’s been seven years…

…I have to stop torturing myself with these things!

I know! I’ll just pretend it’s saying something else.

“The post office? Why, it’s right over there! Good day, sir!”


Second, when talking to Spark Brushel:


Brushel: People and events all get tangled together and get biggerer and biggerer…

…don’tcha think?

Phoenix: (I was too busy wondering about “biggerer” to listen to what you were saying.)


Now that sounds much more like the wryly sarcastic Phoenix we know. A sign of his familiar spirit can also be seen throughout the game when he occasionally opens his eyes completely and smiles, as opposed to when his eye-lids are lowered. So how can the cool exterior he frequently puts on be explained? I believe he simply became more confident in himself and learned how to better mask his uncertainty in the face of adversity. As for why he didn’t immediately tell Apollo the truth about the Zak Gramarye trial, he could have just felt the time was not yet right.

Regarding Phoenix’s transition from a somewhat perturbable guy to someone who is more collected, a similar process can be observed in another character, Mia Fey, though in her case the order we see it in is reversed. For two games we become accustomed to thinking of Mia as the unshakable pillar, the steady-minded mentor who never caves in to pressure or seemingly hopeless situations. Even during case 2-4, when hope is at a nadir, she continues to urge Phoenix on and encourage him. In the third game, though, we see she wasn’t always so cool and calm. Before each of her first two trials she shows similar, if not greater, levels of stress than Phoenix did before his own first trial.

With this comparison in mind, it could be said that Phoenix has reached a point where he must be a pillar for other people (Trucy in particular and perhaps Apollo as well), so he switches between being more stoic and being more open as necessary. So did Phoenix really change? Maybe not as much as it seems.