XENOPATHOLOGY Letter Two: Will, March 22

Michael,

First, thanks so much for doing this with me. As I sit here writing on the 22nd of March, I'm excited to have a project, and especially one where I get to talk about games with you. Let's dive in!

So, as a long-time fan of Eastern RPGs, why didn't I play Xenoblade Chronicles when it first came out? To answer, you have to trace my history with Tetsuya Takahashi and the Xeno series, all the way back to 1998's Xenogears, which I played as a 14-year-old Square fanboy willing to call a 60-hour chair-sitting-simulator a genius masterpiece. But I kid! I love Xenogears.

That being said, the game was a tipping point in a path that Square had started on with the more esoteric elements of Final Fantasy VII, the moment the company got too obsessed with creating "games as art," full of religious symbolism (often cribbed from anime) and plots that were complex for the sake of complexity. (Chrono Cross, which came out the next year, is the ultimate expression of this trend, converting one of the most optimistic games of all time into a quasi-nihilistic expression of human hopelessness. It's probably not a coincidence that Final Fantasy IX, a pretty clear refutation of the trend, came out the next year.) 

But being the vanguard in an arguably bad trend doesn't make Xenogears a bad game. For all its pretension and the swift right turn it takes into what TV Tropes would call (not coincidentally) a Gainax Ending, XG has some great plot twists, likable characters, and a really fun battle system. (Plus, the robot Battling fighting game, because if there's one thing late '90s Square was good at it, was designing mini games I would have paid money to get as a standalone game). It's not perfect; besides the notoriously slapdash second disc, the plot has a nasty tendency to ignore most of the game's cast once their individual plot sections are over, usually to the detriment of interesting characters. But it's a game that I have a lot of fond memories of, and if I've never revisited it, it's because I'd like to keep them intact.

Xenosaga was a whole other story, though. A "spiritual sequel," everything about it felt off-brand. I know I shouldn't put much stock in the name Square (or Square-Enix) any more, but the publisher switch threw me a bit, putting me on a weird footing. From there, Xenosaga Episode I seemed to capture everything I didn't like about JRPGs of its era; an overreliance on long cutscenes, a plot that danced around giving the audience information less for artistic purposes and more to obscure how pedestrian everything was, and that same 1999-esque reliance on symbolism and religious allusions at the detriment of storytelling. Even worse, the game had a generally plodding feeling that's my least favorite thing to encounter in an RPG. Out of all the genres, this is the one that I need to be FAST; menus have to be responsive, load times have to be minimal, and rewards need to come quickly. Xenosaga Episode I didn't respect my time, and I ended up discarding it roughly 20 hours in. When the sequels came out, I happily ignored them.

Get a load of THESE jerkbags.

So when Xenoblade Chronicles was released, I'd been primed to ignore anything with the Xeno name. It didn't help that I was completely ignorant of Project Rainfall, although I'm always in favor of weird Japanese games making their way over here (he said, shoving his ROMs of Mother 3 and Retro Game Challenge 2 discreetly out of sight). More than that, by 2010 I'd completely written the Wii off as a gaming platform. Too many years of shovelware had given me a massive blindspot where Nintendo's console was concerned. Instead, my attention was on the DS, which had built up a frankly incredible lineup of titles, including some truly great RPGs, in that same time. So I skipped Xenoblade, and never looked back. Until now.

Why return to Xenoblade Chronicles in 2015? Part of it is your enthusiasm, Michael. I trust your taste in games, so I figured this one deserved its day in court. Beyond that, I'm just in love with the 3DS (especially my beautiful red New 3DS XL), and I'm only mildly ashamed to admit that the game's status as the first New 3DS XL-exclusive has my interest piqued. I've just finished the Majora's Mask remake, and, while Monster Hunter still sometimes pulls at my attention, it's a hard game to marathon. I want something meaty and narrative to sink my teeth into.

Who needs a Porsche?

What do I know about the game? Almost nothing. I don't even know if the combat is real-time or turn-based! If it wasn't included in Smash 3DS (Shulk, something called the Monado, some kind of chicken man), I'm completely ignorant. I don't have an Amiibo (I'm still waiting for proof that the concept is a DS, not a Virtual Boy, Nintendo-idea-wise). As to the length, my social life is of variable activity, as is my work schedule. I tend to binge on games on the weekend, so that'll be when most of my play time is done. As for opening thoughts... I'm excited. The 3DS has been extremely spotty for me in terms of RPGs; the best of the lot is probably Persona Q, and even that's failed to hold my attention. Beyond that, we have titles like Shin Megami Tensei IV and Bravely Default - interesting, ultimately badly flawed games. I need something great to carry around with me; I'm hoping this'll be the game.

In closing, is there anything I need to know before I dive into this game? Any prep work I should be doing, gaming wise, or anything I should avoid so I'm not tainted by similarity? Are my expectations too high? Should I track down one of these damn Amiibos? I eagerly await your response.

Sincerely,

Will

PS: I assume that will make sense eventually!

XENOPATHOLOGY Letter One: Michael, March 18

Cough cough, pardon our dust, long time since I've updated, etc. Would you rather read about what I've been up to, or some hard-hitting video game criticism? I thought so. Take it away, Michael:

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Greetings, folks... this is guestblogger Michael Peterson, formerly of Project: Ballad, using Will's real estate here since I no longer have permanent online residence. Will and I are pleased to present a letter series between he and I over the upcoming days and weeks (and months?) focusing on the newly-released Xenoblade Chronicles 3D, the wider-release offering of the cult Wii title, and maybe on some other things as well. I thank my good friend and comrade in games writing Will for the time spent and the words exchanged. It's a time of great contention for games, but there are few things more joyful than discussing an interesting game with a friend.

Being an Epistolary Tale of Scale, Storytelling, Monadology, and Overcooked Allusions in the Xeno franchise of "J"RPGs, focusing primarily on the Nintendo 3DS release of Xenoblade Chronicles in 2015, and looking forward

***


Dear Will,


Thanks for clearing some space for me on your desk!


The time of this writing is the third week in March. Xenoblade Chronicles 3D will be arriving in western stores on April 10th. I thought maybe we'd start talking about this game, and the others in its series (be those connections loose or otherwise) before you get started.


Xenoblade Chronicles 3D is the first game available that is exclusively for use on the Nintendo New 3DS, rather than any 3DS models before it. What color is your 3DS, Will? Mine's Monado Red. Much as in some of the previous video game letter series I hosted, I'm entering as the comparative expert opposite someone new to the game in question, and in this case I'm very much a fan of the title. Though not an unequivocal one, as we'll get to in time. I certainly have my issues with it. But I will do my best to lead you on through the world of Xenoblade in discussion, without spoiling anything you don't already know. Which leads to another question: how much do you know about this game, going in? Is Shulk's Super Smash Bros. appearance and its attendant mis-applied and overused memes the extent of your knowledge?

For the benefit of the folks following along at home, a bit of backstory. Xenoblade (and we'll have to keep the title shortened for our own sanity as discussion carries on) began life as a game that was initially titled Monado: The Beginning of the World. Renamed relatively late in its development, Xenoblade was released for Wii in June 2010 in Japan.


In 2011, word came that the game would be localized in Europe and Australia for release in the summer, but there was no word of a North American release. There are any number of conspiracy theories as to the reason, but if nothing else, somebody assumed that it wouldn't sell here. The original Monado title had a placeholder on Amazon that languished as the European release date approached, and a group of ardent fans began what was titled "Operation Rainfall," an effort to bring Xenoblade, Hironobu Sakaguchi's The Last Story, and Pandora's Tower to the US. Operation Rainfall spread awareness in any number of ways, but (according to Wikipedia) a particularly notable one was that on June 25, 2011, a preorder push for that defunct placeholder became the number one best-selling video game on Amazon for the day.


The game was finally given a North American release date for April 2012... but only as a GameStop exclusive. Because of this, the game instantly became a rare item. Nintendo of America's position was that Operation Rainfall had not influenced the localization decisions, but Nintendo didn't usually offer entire games as retailer exclusives, so... At any rate, the game was exceedingly well-reviewed and attained a cult following, and GameStop subsequently faced some controversy because copies were scarce, but used copies priced exceedingly high were available on its website, leading to a high demand amongst some and a spiteful refusal to look for the game at all from others. As another notable quirk of its release, localization was done through Nintendo of Europe, and thus the voice actors were English actors rather than American ones, even upon arriving on our shores.

I got my own copy from Kevin Czapiewski as a gift as we worked on Project: Ballad.


Fast-forward to August 2014, and Shulk is revealed to be a new fighter in the latest Smash Bros installment, surprising many - though not me, personally. I'd been predicting it (and awaiting it greedily, I must admit) for quite some time, as Nintendo's been pushing the Xenoblade license incredibly hard since releasing the Wii U. Xenoblade Chronicles X, a spiritual sequel, is due later this year, and is the highest-profile "hardcore gamer" (if we can gag that term down for a bit) title that they have slated. The first teaser was one of the earliest Wii U games previewed, and they've got a lot riding on it. Rereleasing this game, and giving it the love that it deserved the first time around, was a marketing decision for its Wii U game as much as anything. And in that sense, it's smart - this is a good game, and by every single indicator thus far, Xenoblade Chronicles X is shaping up to be something very special. It's my most anticipated release in years and even if it disappoints in the ways that Xeno titles always do - and this is something that I think you and I will be talking a lot about as we exchange these letters - even if it does, it's still likely to be one of the most fun and engrossing RPGs since the 16-bit era. As, indeed, Xenoblade was the last go-around.


So! You will be playing this game for the first time, and I will be playing it my third time through. Last time, I played it with my wife, and we essentially 100% cleared the game, so feel free to ask me for any help along the way if you need it - though I'm not certain that you will. There is, however, plenty for us to talk about. Obsession, the storytelling of Xeno games, the state of "J"RPGs in the modern age, the relationship between Eastern- and Western-developed RPGs, how being over- or under-powered affects how we engage with a game, completionism, the tendency of a fan to fill in story blanks and how gaming is so tuned to that instinct, Digital Devil Saga, archetypes, accents, "social links," how Xenosaga is one of the worst video game experiences of all time, cute mascot characters, subplots, female characters, Yoko Shimomura's love affair with the violin, and the tendency in the modern age to reduce a subject to a meme rather than engage with it... and that's what I came up with off the top of my head just now.


What do you know about this game's story and gameplay going in, Will? Why did you pass Xenoblade by when it was first released, and why are you coming to it now with this portable, 3D-enhanced release? Do you have a Shulk Amiibo (I do)? As an adult, how do you devote time to a game of prodigious length like an RPG? And what are your thoughts before we begin this long letter series?


Yours,
Michael


P.S. Ah, Hell, fine, for the sake of our readers, just the once: "I'm really feeling it!"

How Monaco Fails Its Players

I picked up (against the better judgment of my bank account) several games during the last Steam Sale. Three of those were stealth titles of recent publication - Monaco, Gunpoint, and Mark of the Ninja (the last a gift from my friend Pat). And I bought them despite the fact that I have very real problems with the stealth genre.

Monaco has gotten the most play so far. The Girlfriend and I are moving through it, and the emotions it evokes have been a little roller-coaster-y. When it's working, it's fantastic - the art design is incredible, the character abilities well-balanced, and the challenge often invigorating. Until we hit the wrong mission, anyway. Then the alarms go off, the guards start shooting, and soon we're dead.

Now, Monaco, as far as stealth games go, is quite forgiving. You're given plenty of information about what the guards are thinking and seeing, and they have pleasantly elastic memories - if your character can stay out of sight for long enough, you'll be forgotten, and the level will go back to an un-alerted status. And in co-op, a dead player can be revived by his or her co-conspirator, making survival much easier. And yet...

There is no sensation in gaming more infuriating than loss of progress. One of the reasons we play games is that it gives us a pleasant, if artificial, sensation of achievement. We are doing things, growing stronger, passing through levels. And when those achievements are stripped from us by our own mistakes or failures, the feeling is crushing. Feeling crushed isn't why I play games.

To give a Monaco-specific example: it is a significant task to grab every single piece of loot on a floor of Monaco. It involves stealth, hacking, combat, all of your characters' skills. And if, after achieving that task, you die on another floor of the same level, it's all gone. That progress is deleted as though you'd done nothing for the last half hour of your life.

Worse, you're forced to repeat the areas you've already completed. Novelty is another important aspect of games, and by punishing players by stripping them of progress when they die, you're also stealing novelty from them. I want to experience new challenges, not be forced to re-complete ones I've already done because I died on an unrelated part of the level (this is a problem I had with Hotline Miami, as well). If a challenge kills me, I want to try that challenge again. Not spend twenty minutes doing the things that lead up to the challenge.

Am I just whining and asking to have my hand held? I don't think so. I still want hard, nasty challenges in my games, but I want the challenges to be their own reward. I don't need the stakes of knowing that failure means losing half an hour of progress in order to take the challenge seriously.

For an example of someone doing it right, look to Gunpoint. One of Tom Francis's stated design goals with the game was to never make players feel like their time had been wasted. As such, Gunpoint saves every few seconds, and after a failure, you can simply rewind a few clicks to try again. You still have to solve puzzles and execute tricky maneuvers, but there's no sense that you're being punished by the game. If you're seen, you die pretty much instantly, and then the game immediately reloads an old save; it's exactly what players have been doing when being spotted in stealth games for years, it's just automatic and far less painful.

I love Monaco. But it has made me feel legitimately upset because of how it treats its failure state, and that's not a great way to feel while playing a game. There are better ways.

Driving Me Psycho(nauts): One of the Worst Aspects of One of the Best Games

Been re-playing Psychonauts, on the theory that its hilarious dialogue and gorgeous art would make it a good game for The Girlfriend to watch me play (she enjoys it, I swear). And I was right! The only problem (and it's the thing that always trips me up when re-playing Double Fine's best game) is the tedium of some of the collection aspects of the game.

Now, to be fair, Psychonauts gets half of its collection sidequest stuff right. The game is divided between the 'real' world and the mental world, and in the real world, collection works like this: Collectible items (cards, challenge markers, scavenger hunt items, and brains) are brightly colored and mobile, making them pop against the game's backgrounds. You're given a counter in each area, telling you how many many of each collectible are left. And, most importantly, each collectible has a reasonable amount of worth. Every collectible is worth either 1, 1/2, or 1/9th of one of 101 Psi-Ranks (the game's leveling-up aspect, which is completely based on collection), and the challenges associated with each collectible are proportional to the value. A Psi-card (1/9th of a rank) is easy to grab, while a Psi Challenge Marker (1 whole rank) will involve some serious searching and acrobatics.

 

In the mental world, however, things are different. Here, the primary collectible is the 'figment' - rogue expressions of the subconscious of the mind you're currently in. Here's the problem with figments: Each level has roughly a hundred. They move. They're 2D in a 3D world. And they're transparent. Admittedly, the transparent neon look of the figments is cool, but it also makes quickly scanning a level for them an utter chore. And their sheer volume means that, even though you're given the number of figments in an area, the act of finding that last rogue semi-invisible, moving, random shape can be a chore of hours.

 

I'm not against collection sidequests at all. In a platforming game, they make much more sense than combat (never a 3D platformer's strong suit) as a metric of success. Collectibles can encourage exploration and tricky jumping, testing the core mechanics of the game. It's only when the collection becomes an exercise in frustration that I protest.

Compare Psychonauts to Mario 64. Figments are worth a variable amount of a percentage of a Psi-Rank (usually proportional to how well they're hidden), and discovering them all unlocks a hidden ending cutscene. Which is another way of saying 'There's part of the game's story that you don't get to see if you don't get every figment' (barring Youtube, of course). In Mario, the basic collectible unit is the coin. Most levels have a total of between 110 and 140 coins, and the player is rewarded with a star for collecting 100 in a single run. After that 100, the only benefit to collecting coins is health restoration. That makes the 100-coin star challenging, but not maddeningly frustrating. It's a challenge to your collection abilities, but doesn't force unpleasant, completionist behavior on the player.

The irony is, if Psychonauts DIDN'T penalize/reward you with additional story content for collecting every figment, it would make the act of completing the task (which the game never explicitly asks you to do, but which is implicitly demanded by the ____ out of _____ figment count for every mental level) even more hollow. How many games have you played where, upon reaching 100% completion, you get, at best, a text box, and then nothing else? Once you've set a goal (by 'telling' players to get EVERY figment), there must be a reward, or the player feels cheated. (All of this presumes that gameplay like this can't be its own reward, which is easy to say, given how stressful, nerve-wracking, and boring scouring a level for a single missing figment can be. At this point, you're essentially being bribed by the game into playing it in a particular way. Bad design, I think, especially when contrasted to the elegant way Mario 64 handles it). The game has asked you to do something that most players would consider unpleasant, so it has to use the carrot of unlocked content to guide you forward.

How to fix it? Glad you asked! First, there's the Mario solution: only a subset of collectibles are needed. This is probably the most pleasant way to go around this, because you can tune and playtest to find the right percentage to avoid needless player frustration. You could also go the "collectible finder" route - Saints Row 3 does this, and it works fairly well. This can go too far, of course - Far Cry 3 is overly insistent about notifying you of where collectibles are, turning the game from one of free will into one of watching the dot that represents your character as it moves across the mini-map, creeping toward a collectible icon. It's better than leaving players to waste hours in the unpleasant act of searching, but playing as a dot making his rounds on a mini-map just isn't as fun as playing as a character exploring their environment. It takes exploration, which is ostensibly what all this collecting nonsense is supposed to be in service of, and makes it safe, boring, and rote.

Linkpost: Timmy, Johnny, and Spike

No time for a full post today (moving/painting), so, since conversation on Facebook about yesterday's post got pretty detailed, I thought I'd just leave a link to this, one of the most interesting articles I've ever read about game design. It's from Wizards of the Coast, designers of Magic: The Gathering, and it discusses the three player motivations they design cards to appease. Yesterday, I revealed myself as more of a Spike than I really thought I was (although I imagine my friends weren't surprised). Although, I'd like to think there's a healthy streak of Johnny in me, as well. Which psychograph do you fall into? Leave a comment to that effect, if you like.

Timmy, Johnny, and Spike Revisited.

Why Winning Matters

My friend Matt (who blogs over at Killer Tofu) pointed me to a Kotaku piece by Quentin Smith titled "Video Games' Obsession With Winning is Killing Them". It's an interesting read, with the central thesis that video games like Call of Duty, with their focus on every interaction having a clear winner and a clear loser, create more wounded feelings and sensations of failure than necessary. He points to modern boardgames as a model that video games could learn from on this score, with their focus on non-direct competition and creating experiences more than winners.

Which implies that he and I have been playing board games very differently.

Smith cites Twilight Imperium as a game that prioritizes the creating of experiences over winning. In TI, there is a vast array of available actions to take, and the brutality of combat ensures that diplomacy is generally a first option. This encourages talking around the table and gives players breathing room to try different parts of the game world. You can focus on researching interesting things, build Death Stars, role play and sway votes in the Galactic Council. And while you're doing all that, I'll be busy accruing Victory Points so that, once the game is over, I'll be the winner. And one of TI's flaws is that the accumulation of VPs often stands in contrast to doing fun things, which means you can't have as much fun playing to win as you could simply screwing around.

 

Maybe this need to win speaks to something flawed in my character. Maybe I've been indoctrinated by video games to believe that winning matters, and I'm robbing myself of joy. But here's my question: If winning is so unimportant to modern board games, why is it there at all? Why does Twilight Imperium even have a Victory Point system if winning is such a secondary concern?

Because 'winning' is the goad that ensures good play. When we all sit down around a table, we enter the so-called 'magic circle', in which we all agree that the outcome of a fundamentally meaningless activity like playing a game matters. Each player strives, to the best of their ability, to follow the rules of the game to ensure the best outcome for themselves. I bet you've played board games before with someone who doesn't care about winning, or who doesn't fully understand the rules that the game operates under. It's horrible, right? The table basically has a hole, sucking all of the fun down it as the magic circle breaks whenever it's that player's turn. They don't care about winning, so they don't make interesting moves; they act randomly, or to suit some personal whim. They're probably having fun, but it's fun at the expense of the table, and it's toxic to good gaming.

This is often the consequence of improperly defined or easily ignored victory systems. A player who feels like they can't win, either because the game mechanics make it too easy for a savvy player to pull ahead, or because it's too easy to lose track of how winning is achieved, will begin to strike out randomly, essentially attempting to pull the game down around them in the interest of their own enjoyment. This problem plagues Twilight Imperium, with its Victory Point system often lost in the haze of all the available options. A player will see another player pull ahead, and, feeling the game's stated goal pull out of their reach, will start acting only to amuse themselves.

Games are more fun when people play to the best of their abilities. People play their best when there are stakes. The agreement that winning 'matters' and is achievable by all players is the best way to create those stakes. Ill-defined or unimportant win conditions in board games aren't a blessing or a boon that video games need to adapt; they're a curse that needs to be avoided.

(I will say: Smith's last point, about the competitive party game Bang, is dead-on. A party game that relies largely on randomness is a great palate cleanser after a long, winning-focused strategy game like Twilight Imperium, and a quick game where winning is more a matter of luck than skill can be a great game to heal wounded feelings. That being said, for games where skill IS paramount, winning must and should be the player's goal).

Failure to (Stop) Launching - How Launcher Games Hook You

I play a lot of Flash games (especially on Kongregate), for two basic reasons. One, they're free. And two, their low budgets and quick development time mean you often encounter innovative ideas that wouldn't function in a big studio release, or even as a dedicated indie game.

At least, that's what I tell myself, as I load up another damn 'Launcher' game and start sending my (pirate/buffalo/monkey/rocket/penguin/nerd/whatever pick one as applicable) hurtling through landscapes full of stuff designed to either impede or increase its progress upward or outward. So I find myself wondering: What, exactly, is so compulsive about this genre of games?

The first Launcher game I ever played was the inexplicably Japanese NANACA(Cross)CRASH!! a weird, Flash-based spin-off of a Japanese game I've only barely ever heard of (I said Japanese twice in that last sentence, because this game is very, very Japanese). The premise is simple: You're a dude. A girl hits you with her bike. AWAY YOU GO! There are people on the ground, some boost you, some slow you down. If you hit them in certain orders, weird special effects (none well explained) occur, usually to your benefit.

Back in high school, this game was VERY big in my social circle on AOL Instant Messenger, with people constantly updating their profiles (does anyone else remember how amazingly important it was to have a properly curated AIM profile, with only the best hideously colored backgrounds, the deepest, most meaningful terrible song lyrics? Just me? Right, I'm old) with the highest scores to show they were the best NANACA(Cross)CRASH!!ers (or, as we usually just called it, Weird Bike Game). So let's unpack what about it is so compelling, and see what we can extrapolate to the 'Launcher' genre as a whole.

First, the game's playtimes are very short - each session takes about a minute, unless you do very well, or very poorly. In each of these sessions, you get a wide array of emotional moments - the giddy speed of the initial launch, the pleasures or disappointments of near-misses or barely-grabbed boosts, the thrill as you catch a last-minute reprieve, the slow decline (or immediate abrupt stop) of lost momentum and the end of the session. It's very much a roller coaster (except, in this case, you can immediately get back on).

Second, the game sits in the sweet spot between luck and player skill. The initial launch is entirely dependent on the player's reflexes, but after that, control is extremely limited. You get 3 "Boosts", where you can knock your airborne character up and give him a little speed, and a slowly recharging down-kick that imparts speed and lets you push him towards the characters on the ground. That's it. The rest of the game is watching your character float along, waiting for the ideal moments to deploy your limited controls. The order of characters on the ground is random (although the player is given a small indicator so that they know which boosts or detriments are coming up), so it's very easy for a lucky player to hit several boosts in a row, massively increasing speed and distance traveled, and for an unlucky player to hit an instant stop. However, the player control means that, when you use one of your limited interventions and it works, the feeling is intoxicating. Essentially, we have a situation where happy outcomes feel like a result of player skill, while negative results feel like bad luck. That's a recipe for players deriving pride from their successes without being too discouraged by their losses, and feeding that positive feeling is a great way to keep people playing.

One thing NANACA(Cross)CRASH!! doesn't have that its descendents almost always do, though, is any kind of progression structure. Every launch starts with the same probabilities of success - you can't upgrade the bike or pay an in-game currency to make the beneficial characters more prevalent. This makes NCC!! ideal as a score game, one where you can post a crowing high score to your friends with no caveats about whichever upgrades you've purchased, or how long you had to play the game to unlock the SUPER BIKE that got you your score - there's only 'skill' (which, see point 2 above). However, it also means that, once you've gotten a score you like, there's no sense of investment in the game, no feeling of sunk costs to pull you back in for another play.

In contrast, let's look at a game I've talked about on here before, Burrito Bison Revenge. BBR (produced by Juicy Beast) shares many design elements with NNC!!, - timing based launching, special units that boost or reduce speed, a limited control scheme prioritizing carefully timed interventions), but adds a few things that really let the game put its hooks in. (An easy way to know when a game 'has' you, and one I'll refer to repeatedly here, is when you have the thought "I'll just play until _____," where _____ is some measure of in-game progression. Once you've started bargaining with yourself for more playtime, you know you're in trouble). The first is an upgrade system, where in-game currency can be spent to enhance various features of your flight (stronger launches, less speed lost from mistakes, more control interventions, and several others). This does two important things: One, it gives the player a small-scale goal to play toward - "I'll stop once I've got enough money for that top speed upgrade" (but of course, you're going to want to TRY OUT the new upgrade, aren't you? And now you're so close to that bounciness upgrade...)- and two, it ensures that the player, regardless of skill level, will do better and better as play continues. Even if the player never gets better at using the rocket slams (the game's limited control scheme), by nature of upgrading their character, they'll go, generally, further and further with every launch. Thus, you avoid the discouraging scenario often found in NANACA, where a great launch can be followed by an abysmally cut-short one; instead, you have a constant, pleasing feeling of (fake) improvement.

 

Juicy Beast also introduced a multi-tiered progression scheme into the game to keep players hooked. The game world is made up of four regions, each separated by a large door which requires a sufficient amount of speed and strength (a stat only affected by upgrading) to pass through. Once the player can break through the fourth door, the game is 'over', and the push to get through each, more sturdy door, makes up the highest level of the game's progression. The doors are a milestone to aim for, a large-scale 'I'll play until I get through the next one' measurement. However, the game also has a smaller scale sense of progression, through in-game missions. These (as I described back during my Achievements posts), are small, variably difficult goals that are presented, three at a time. Once one (say, do two perfect launches in a row, or earn x amount of money in a single launch, or any permutation of the game's mechanics) of these is completed, another one takes its place. Thus, even when the gameplay distance between breaking through one door and the next is too big for the player to comfortably commit themselves to, they have these mini goals to focus on as they build up upgrades (which, as pointed out above, make it easier and easier to progress to and break through the next door). The missions act as connective tissue for the other goals in the game, a way to keep players committed even during lulls.

 

So, there you have it: the modern 'launcher' game. The initially compelling aspects (short session times with a wide emotional range combined with a healthy amount of randomness and limited, but meaningful control) have been fine-tuned and married to progression mechanics designed to keep the player going for 'one more launch' (inevitably, more like 20). In a way, they're quite cynical in how effectively they suck down player time, but it's hard to stay mad at them, because it's hard to do anything right now except PLAY LAUNCHER GAMES (Will quickly alt-tabs to the three different browsers he has with launcher games waiting).

A short list of good launchers:

1) NANACA(Cross)CRASH - Weird, and addictive. Feel free to post your best score in the comments here; mine's 10,145.

2) Burrito Bison Revenge - The king of launchers - gorgeous graphics, varied controls, and an expertly machined sense of progression.

3) Learn to Fly 2 - This one offers a great deal more control than the first two, and also has an EXTREMELY CHARMING PENGUIN

4) Into Space 2 - the best of the Vertical Launcher genre, where your goal is to go up, not out. A really, really detailed upgrade system.

There, that should be enough to waste a few of your days.