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Twelve million, five hundred fifty thousand, eight hundred twenty-one blocks away, if you want to get technical about it. The name comes from the distance a player must travel in Minecraft to reach ‘The Farlands.’ This is a place where the mathematical rules that control the rendering of the land break down, resulting in spontaneous, foreign, alien features. On top of that, movement becomes aligned to a grid, meaning that the algorithms that smooth out player movement also collapse. Everything feels laggy, although it isn’t. At roughly thirty-two million blocks from the starting point, the variables storing the player’s position overflow. If the game didn’t freeze and crash long before then, the player would likely cease to exist. Such is the ominous nature of the Farlands.

I adopted this name for two reasons. Firstly, the Farlands represent a point at which a game is no longer a game. Defining characteristics are erased, strange and spontaneous problems arise, and things fall apart. In the case of the Farlands, this is caused by events outside of the player’s perception, i.e. the programming and fine-tuning of aesthetics. I adopt this name because, in this blog, I will not simply be reviewing games. I will be picking them apart, defining what about each game makes it a game, and what parts of it fail to meet its own criteria (When it is no longer a game, so to speak.). I will pull apart the inner workings of, not only the aesthetics of the game, but also the psychological effects it has on the player (These would be the ‘events outside of the player’s perception.’). In my reviews, I seek to find the ‘Farlands’ of every game, as well as the reasons behind them.

This is not a video game review blog. This is an insight into the psychological connection and philosophical implication between gaming and the human mind.

For those who are curious, the second reason I chose this name is because Minecraft is pretty fantastic. And I like obscure references to things.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Don't Look Back

[Flash game: Play here]

There is something I’d like to note before starting, here. If you have any desire to play any of the games I analyze, it would be in your best interest to do so before reading my views. Doing so will give you the same viewpoint I had while writing this, and it will put you in a position to agree, disagree, argue, or defend my points. Also, reading the analysis before playing the game will ruin many moments that I discuss, as a large part of psychological gaming stems from surprise. So please, keep the gaming experience untainted by the information I disclose, and play the game before you spoil anything for yourself. This applies to all of my analyses.

This is a neat, cyclical game, based on the story of Orpheus. It the story, he goes down into Hades to retrieve his wife from the king of the underworld. The king allows her to leave with Orpheus, but only under the condition that he does not look back until he returns to the land of the living. Just before they get back out into the sunlight, he forgets himself and turns to look at his beautiful wife. She fades away, back to where she came from, and Orpheus dies alone.

This game barely follows that. Early in the game, the player finds a gun, and will proceed to slay everything in their path. After killing the king of the underworld, the player works their way back out of Hades. This game is drastically more violent than the myth, yet I suppose such a change is necessary for the enjoyment of the general populace. I am not criticizing this change; the game is still pleasant. I just wish the developer did not feel it necessary to stray from the original story to please the players.

The psychology of the game is not perfect, but is still quite decent. A common trademark of psychologically strong games is simplicity, and this game certainly has that. The controls are alright, but they aren’t the best. Jumping, in vital moments, feels delayed, and can easily lead to frustration, and the game gives you no support with nothing to combat it. What is handy, though, is that fact that dying respawns you at the beginning of the screen. There are virtually no setbacks in death, other than needing to kill the creatures again. This may help a bit, but in the more difficult areas, simply leads to repetition of frustration.

But perhaps there is a point to be made here. A journey into hell to retrieve a lost love would certainly be a nerve-wracking trip, and there is no doubt that Orpheus made the trip with a heavy heart. It is clear that the intent was not to recreate the character’s emotion in the player, because if it was, then the frustration would be accompanied by a sense of compassion and empathy. The frustration wouldn’t be so much an emotion felt by the player, but an emotion that the player feels for the character. This is not the case.

Yet, even still, the lack of explicit storyline provides sufficient driving force for the player to battle through the challenging, frustrating areas, and they can rest easy, knowing that there is nothing that can happen to send them back to fight through it again.

Upon defeating the king, the player must then climb out of the underworld, followed closely by a female spirit. Every time the player turns back, though, the spirit fades away and the screen is restarted. It will take a differing amount of time for different players to figure out what they are doing wrong, but when they do, it creates an incredible ‘aha!’ moment. All players will realize the meaning behind the title of the game, some will realize the sorrow that comes with not being able to see the person you yearn to be with, and the mythologically educated players will realize the storyline, where you came from, what you just did, and where you are going now. They will also realize that the loss of the spirit will be inevitable. This wonderful moment of realization is one thing that the game succeeded in doing. It gives the player a great burst of joy, and perhaps self-confidence and pride, and allows them to happily finish the game.

The ending is just as brilliant as the stimulation of the moment of realization. When the player arrives back at the tombstone, they will see themselves still standing in front of it, just like at the beginning of the game. After the player does a double-take, both the spirit and the other “you” vanish, leaving only the character in front of the tombstone. The implication is that it was all wishful thinking on the character’s part. He envies Orpheus for having the chance of retrieving his loved one, and only desires the same opportunity. The entire game is really an “If I had the chance…” scenario, played out in the wishful thinking of the character. With this concept, perhaps the original Orpheus myth was not butchered, but only referenced in modern day thinking of a depressed individual. It would explain the gun, as well as the desire to shoot everything that comes at the player. The violence is born of hate, which, as unusual as it feels commonly accompanies sorrow. To quote an anonymous person, “Hate is only depression directed at someone.” In the context of the game, the person responsible for the death would be Hades himself, so he sets out to destroy him.

Overall, it’s a decent game. The controls could be smoothed out, the lack of knowledge could be constructed better (see Limbo), yet the principle psychological element, that moment of realization, was done very well. If the game had not been so hastily made, as it certainly feels at times, that element could really shine. Don’t Look Back was definitely built around that idea, yet because all of the focus was on how to present that single moment of realization, the other parts were neglected.
Posted by Erik Coburn at 7:12 AM

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