Robotstreetgang

2004-11-04T23:43:00.000-08:00

A Letter to The Los Angeles Times

Sir and Madame,

I've made a habit of avoiding the Los Angeles Times' video game reviews since Aaron Curtis' tenure as critic. I found the Senior Technology Editor to be a tad out of touch. His Andy Rooney-like diatribe against Sega's inline-skate-propelled graffiti crew simulator Jet Grind Radio (which I'd link to if your website didn't require registration) was enough to turn me off for good.

Many years later, I ran across across a copy Mr. Metzger's column. I was relieved to find that Pete genuine enthusiasm, but was a tad disappointed at the exceedingly breezy tone of his writings. When his reviews weren't wasting time being flippant they provided shallow and usually ungrounded generalizations about controls and graphics. I wrote the column off again. This time, because your paper was taking the low road – a sight better than shrill Curtis' high moral ground, but by not much.

Then today, my neighbor Mike hands me the Tuesday, November 4th Calendar Weekend. He thought I'd be interested in reading Metzger's review of Katamari Damacy. He directed my eyes toward the trite headline, "Game Gets Lost in Translation" (and I say trite because most conscientious editors should have called a moratorium on headlines evoking Sophia Coppola's movie for Japan-related articles a year ago). Mike, who is also an avid gamer, knew the piece would infuriate me and it did.

Metzger's closed-minded dismissal of the game for its strangeness was more than disappointing. In a time when the regularly off-beat subject matter of Japanese cinema (Kill Bill, The Grudge), anime (Pokemon, Cowboy Bebop) and even manga (Chobits) is now stirring up the waters of the often-tedious mainstream it's shortsighted and downright stupid to allow analysis of such a unique game to boil down to "Huh?" and "What?" But then again, this is coming from a critic who wonders "who comes up with" stuff like Bloodrayne 2 – a tedious hack-and-slash game starring (now here's a new one) a scantily clad, ass-kicking heroine.

Now, I may be a geek, but I'm not the kind of geek that fires off an angry letter every time he reads a negative review of something he likes. If I did, I'd never have the time to play games, watch movies and not pay enough attention to my wife. No, I'm perfectly capable of giving critics a pass. In fact, I love to read well-reasoned criticisms of films and games that I love. I often disagree with David Denby's taste, but I'm always engaged (as well as amused) by what The New Yorker's film critic has to say when he tears a movie apart.

Sadly, Pete Metzger's review of Katamari Damacy wasn't well-reasoned at all. It was mostly ignorant. If he doesn't enjoy the vaguely nihilistic pleasure of rolling up cats, dogs, people, cars and houses and firing them into space that's his loss. But to spend the entire review recoiling is mock-horror from the game's loopy setting is a waste of space. Near the end of the paragraph Metzger finally mentions that the game made him feel sick after ninety minutes of play. A better criticism of the game's apparent nausea-inducing point-of-view would have been a much better reason for his pan.

In my mind Katamari Damacy is one of the better games released in 2004. Both its subject matter and game play are wholly original. In a time when the market is flooded with sequels and stale rehashes of tried-and-true genres (first-person-shooters, I'm talking to you). Katamari Damacy's quirky sensibility and clever game mechanic come as a breath of fresh, faintly wasabi-scented, air. That's not to mention the game outstanding original soundtrack – an infectious mix of glitchy electronica and J-pop that serves as a much needed antidote to the awful major label fodder like Hoobastank and Breaking Benjamin that taint most games.

Still, my opinion is neither here nor there. It's Metzger's opinion that's in question. And it's absolutely valid. It's just poorly argued and completely out of pace with a the high critical standards of The Los Angeles Times.

And so I write this email, not just because I like Katamari Damacy and Peter Metzger doesn't, but because of your paper's historically poor track record when it comes to game reviews.

I fully realize that, despite the boat-loads of money being made by the video game industry, most of their output is nowhere near the level of critical and cultural relevancy of film. We still await our Cahiers Du cin?ema and we've yet to find our Pauline Kael (though Peter Olafson formerly of The New York Times came really damn close). But with critics the level of Kenneth Turan and (until this June) Manohla Dargis penning thoughtful, informed and entertaining film reviews in the same paper, it's my opinion that you ought to try raising the bar a little when it comes to video game criticism.

So in the spirit of full disclosure and self-promotion, I'll finish by letting you know that part of my frustration with Metzger's column is that he's the competition. I'm a freelance writer working in (among other things) the video game press. For the past couple of years I've been writing a monthly game column for Hustler (laugh, see if I care) and I just recently landed a regular gig with Men's Edge. I also occasionally write for the enthusiast press (Gamespy and Game Over) when I can afford their miserably low rates.

Additionally, I'll be posting this letter on www.robotstreetgang.com a website where I post culture-minded game writings with the frequency of a true dilettante.

I mention my credentials out of a genuine concern for Peter. I know he has a weak stomach. And I know he has his hands full with his reviewing duties. The next time a strange-looking Japanese game comes across his desk send the reviewing duties my way. I'd hate for him to get a stomach ache over Katamari Damacy 2.

You've got my e-mail address.

Yours,

Gus Mastrapa

2004-03-25T01:35:00.000-08:00

ROTKing in the Free World

Game Developer’s Conference: Panel Report

I’m ashamed to admit that today marked the first time I’ve attended this event. Today I checked out a handful of lectures; the first came from a fairly mainstream position.

Neil Young, vice president and executive in charge of production for Electronic Arts (particularly Maxis Studios) shared his development philosophy in the a game design keynote address entitled, “Entertainment Experience First, Videogame Second: The Making of Return of the King.” He positioned Return of the King as a “mass appeal entertainment experience.” To highlight the difference between a game and an entertainment experience, he screened a game play clip of Super Mario Brothers 3. He contrasted it with a flash animation set to the soundtrack of Return of the King that depicts Bowser (like Saruman) planning an attack on the world of man. The clip garnered some chuckles and cheers. Only afterwards did one audience member point out that the clip had inherent entertainment power not because of it’s form (basically a cut scene) but because it merged two popular and well-known properties in a novel way.

Young defined the central organizing concept of his philosophy to be the service of the user fantasy. As such, he readily admitted that user fantasy of The Return of the King was to experience the vision of Peter Jackson,
WETA and Howard Shore, the vision of Neil Young.

Most interesting was Young’s insistence that developers should be obsessive about the first 30 minutes of game play. “You only have once opportunity to impress a player,” he stated. He then showed the first thing a player saw when he powered up The Return of the King – The THX logo. He explained that this set the tone for the game, informing the player that they were going to experience game with cinema quality sound.

Regarding levels, Young made the assertion that levels of a game are like paragraphs. Long sentences with periods feel slow he said. Shorter sentences ending with explanation points (though a bit too Tales From the Crypt for good prose) makes for a more rewarding gaming experience. He spoke of dividing the gaming experience into milliseconds, moments and missions. “Developers,” he said should focus disproportionately on the milliseconds” (the meat and potatoes of the basic game mechanic).

There’s a good chance that Neil Young’s expression of his philosophies in this keynote will serve as further fuel in the growing bonfire of disdain against Electronic Art’s and it’s wildly successful efforts to mainstream and further commercialize the video game. I respected his honesty and the clarity of his game (or mass market entertainment experience) making goals.

For the haters, though, I'll include this interesting exchange during the Q&A regarding game difficulty. During the lecture, Young underlined the importance of making sure that the his studio's Lord of the Rings games weren't too difficult. An audience member took him to task, asking why EA's The Return of the King was much harder than their game adaptation of The Two Towers.

Neil Young's Mea Culpa? "My bad."

Tomorrow, I’ll tell you about a fantastic lecture that countered Young’s lessons on audience service with the idea of the game developer as the auteur.

2004-03-04T03:02:00.000-08:00

Merv Blogger

Mitch may change his tune about Blogger when he sees this River City Ransom template crafted by Egoant. The skin also comes in Black Tiger and Bubble Bobble flavors.

2004-03-03T15:35:00.000-08:00

Pixel on Pixel Action

Blogger sucks, this doesn't. Enjoy. The Legend of Zelda example is particularly filthy. Here, Link's um, motions, remind me of the Jennifer Connelly scene in Requiem for a Dream. Via BoingBoing.

2004-03-01T21:52:00.000-08:00

The Eugene Jarvis Interview

An interview I conducted with Eugene Jarvis of Defender and Robotron fame has just been posted on Salon. In it, he talks about his newest creation Target: Terror, pinball games catching on fire, and shooting terrorists in the nuts. Enjoy!

2004-03-01T18:47:00.000-08:00

Video Games Remixed

In this Photoshop thread Fark's crafty graphical parodists take on our favorite pastime. The round's theme imagines the crossing of games with rock music. The results, as usual, are hilarious. Highlights include, cnelson's Activision's Moshpitfall, sofarked insertion of Courtney Love into GTA and TheBrownCouch's inspired merging of Buckethead and Frogger.

2004-01-07T17:27:00.000-08:00

Classic RSG Gaiden

The reposting of old Robotstreetgang stories continues.

This batch contains Recurring Intelligent Cube, a harrowing account of video game mania by The Video Game Ombudsman Kyle Orland. Special contributor Ara Shirinian makes the bold statement, Dracula X is the Greatest Game Ever Made. Apologia Pro Vita Sua Voldo finds Bryan Younce communing with a kindred Soul Calibur character. Robotstreetgang Editor Mitch Borgeson examines the ongoing death throes of the arcade via a trip to Pakk Mann and an interview with coin-up entrepreneur Ryan Cravens in The Smell That Surrounds You.

Enjoy.

2004-01-02T08:18:00.000-08:00

Mom Plays Manhunt

The following is a transcript of an exchange between Robotstreetgang editor Gus Mastrapa and his mother. To preserve the integrity and gritty realism of the dialogue, no edits have been made.

RSG: Mom, we need to talk.

Mom: Is it about your father again? I told you, I thought you two were wrestling all those years. Honest I did.

RSG: No. Jesus, Mom. It’s not about that. I just want you to play a video game.

Mom: Oh, that’s a relief.

RSG: So, you’ll play?

Mom: You know I don’t like playing your games.

RSG: I know, Mom. That’s why I need you to play it.

Mom: Oh. I don’t know.

RSG: I need your help. I’m going to write a story about it.

Mom: Can’t you get someone else to do it?

RSG: No, Mom. It has to be you.

Mom: I don’t think so, Honey. How about I just watch?

RSG: Okay, Mom. Maybe this will make you change your mind.

Mom: Oh my! Is that real?

RSG: Yes, Mom. It’s a real Glock, 9-millimeter pistol and its loaded.

Mom: Why are you pointing it at me?

RSG: Because I need you to play this game. It’s called Manhunt and it’s by Rockstar, the same people who made Grand Theft Auto: Vice City.

Mom: (silence)

RSG: You’ve heard of Grand Theft Auto, right?

Mom: You know me. I don’t keep up with all the things on the T.V.

RSG: Perfect.

Mom: I thought I raised you better than this.

RSG: You did, Mom. But in order to write a story about what may be one of the most gritty, realistic and violent video games ever made, I have to do something that will grab people's attention.

Mom: I see…

RSG: Mom?

Mom: How about I make you a nice costume or something?

RSG: That’s not good enough.

Mom: You looked so cute as Ms. Pac Man that Halloween.

RSG: Mom. No. Please just play along and nobody will get hurt. Okay?

Mom: All right.

RSG: Here’s the controller.

Mom: What are all these buttons for.

RSG: Don’t worry about that yet. Just watch the game.

Mom: Watch? Aren’t I supposed to be doing something?

RSG: Not, yet. Just watch.

Mom: Am I that lady?

RSG: She’s a newscaster. You’re the guy being executed.

Mom: Oh. Is the game over already?

RSG: No, you’re not dead. A secret organization has faked your death. They’re going to film you fighting for your life and sell the footage as snuff films.

Mom: Okay….What’s snuff?

RSG: It’s tape or film of people being murdered.

Mom: You see! I would have rather lived my entire life not knowing that snuffies existed.

RSG: Snuff.

Mom: Yeah. That’s why I don’t go to see movies anymore. They should make more movies about nice things. Like that Secondhand Tigers movie. Now, that was nice.

RSG: Yes, Mom. Are you finished?

Mom: Yes. What now?

RSG: You missed the whole explanation. There was a guy talking to you. He’s the ringmaster of this whole thing. Run forward by pushing the R1. This button right here.

Mom: Okay. I’m running.

RSG: Go pick up that plastic bag.

Mom: I’m supposed to clean up litter?

RSG: No, the bag is going to be a weapon.

Mom: Tsk. What’s that circle at the bottom for?

RSG: That’s your radar. It tells you where your enemies are and which way they’re facing.

Mom: The little man has a radar?

RSG: Well, sort of.

Mom: Couldn’t I just hit the bad guys over the head with my radar machine?

RSG: You don’t have a radar machine. Your guy just knows where the enemies are and which way they’re facing.

Mom: Oh. So my man is psychic or something?

RSG: No, mom! He’s not psychic! He just knows. It’s the game designer's way of making up for the fact that you’re not really in the game.

Mom: Hmm. It’s not really very realistic then. Is it?

RSG: I guess not, Mom. Let’s just move on.

Mom: Honey?

RSG: Yeah?

Mom: Your gun is pointing towards the ground.

RSG: Oh. Thanks.

Mom: If you sat up straight the gun wouldn’t drift down like that.

RSG: I know, Mom. Jeez. Can you just focus on the game?

Mom: Don’t get snippy with me, young man. I’ve been co-operative, haven’t I? I mean, I do my best to do things for you and your sister and sometimes I get the idea that you two take me for granted. Things haven’t been easy for me, you know. Sometimes a little respect is all…..Honey! Don’t point that thing at your head! Point it back towards me. That’s better. I’m sorry, Gus. Don’t cry.

RSG: Mom…(sniff) can we please just play the game so (sniff) so I can write my article.

Mom: Sure, honey. What do you want me to do?

RSG: Walk towards that man.

Mom: Okay. Did he just say the “S” word?

RSG: Yeah, he did.

Mom: You know how I feel about that kind of language.

RSG: I know, Mom. That’s why I want you to kill him with your plastic bag.

Mom: You want me to kill the foul-mouthed man?

RSG: Would you do it for me, Mom?

Mom: Sure, Honey. You know I’d do anything for you. Oh. It says the “F” word on the wall next to him.

RSG: Yeah, Mom. It’s written in blood. Gross, huh?

Mom: Yeah. Did I ever tell you the story about how your father almost passed out at the hospital when he saw you getting stitches?

RSG: About a million times.

Mom: Oh. He said “prick” this time.

RSG: The only way for you to stop the cursing is to kill him.

Mom: Okay, I’m going to do it.

RSG: Hit the button!

Mom: Oh, he’s hitting me.

RSG: Fight back, Mom. Hit the “X” button.

Mom: Okay. I hit it.

RSG: No. You have to hit it a bunch of times.

Mom: It says scene failed.

RSG: Yeah, he killed you. Let’s try it again. Give me the controller.

(extended silence)

RSG: Okay. Take the controller. Sneak up on him and hit the “X” button.

Mom: I’m killing him!

RSG: Yeah, Mom. You sure are.

Mom: Who’s filming me?

RSG: Hidden cameras.

Mom: But how about that close-up? That camera was really close to me and at knee level.

RSG: So?

Mom: You expect me to believe that there's a camera hidden in the air right in front of me? You keep saying that this game is so realistic, but who was shooting that footage? It had static and those numbers on it like it was real video, but there’s no camera men around to shoot the footage.

RSG: I give up. This isn’t working. You’re supposed to be shocked and outraged, not so…so…critical.

Mom: Come back, Honey!

RSG: No, Mom. You always do this.

Mom: You forgot your gun!

(footsteps and a door slamming)

Mom: Well…shit.

This writing is a work of fiction. No similarities to mothers living or otherwise is intended. All imaginary gunplay was executed by professionals. Do not attempt this scenario at home. No mothers were hurt during the writing of this post. Please do not sue me.

2003-11-19T12:59:00.000-08:00

Kill, kill, kill!

From the concerned, uninformed, never-played-a-video game-in-my-life-but-I-know-there-is-hooker-killing-in-that-Grand-Larceny-Theft-City-game parent camp, comes this ill-thought piece that tries desperately to link the Green River killer with video games while asserting that games are birthing a generation of murderers. Never you mind that the real hooker killer in this situation never once mentions games, or any media, for that matter, in the quotes the article's author has compiled. Seems he killed hookers because he liked it, not 'cause he grew up playing Whore Killer on the Atari 2600. This knee-jerk moralizing is disingenuous at best and should be recognized for the irresponsible journalism it is. Read it for yourself and join us in hoping that some day, newspapers and magazines will turn to people who know what the hell they are takling about (or who can at least present a balanced argument) when it comes to video games before publishing misleading, rabble-rousing "think pieces" like this one. And hey, Mr. Author Guy, where are your stats that show kids are murdering each other with BFGs and Crowbars? Really, though, notice the complete lack of hard data this Bill France character has to back up his hypothesis. The best he can do is to cite some unspecified "research." They're conducting some type of research!:

Violent video games are training children to kill

Good day and be sure to stay on the lookout for GBA-totin', hacksaw bearin' hooligans. They're trained to kill. And if you see former LA Times video game columnist Aaron Curtis, tell him he's going to have to make room for another "first video games, then prison" pundit on his soap box.

2003-10-31T23:59:00.000-08:00

Happy Halloween

2003-10-31T02:40:00.000-08:00

Classic RSG

Thanks to Blogger's nifty post dating feature and the Internet Archive's Wayback Machine the long process of republishing old Robotstreetgang stories has begun.

I've reposted three of my old stories to start the ball rolling. Jill Played Atari is a rememberance of an ex-girlfriend as filtered through video games. I highly recommend picking up 1-Up #3 where the story is beautifully illustrated and hand-lettered by Souther Salazar. In Pixelized Seduction I draw parallels between the decline of the comic book and what its fate may bode for the video game. Finally, Game Over, Man is a tribute to a long, lost friend who, were he alive, would have loved the hell out of Rockstar's State of Emergency.

Look for more vintage writings soon.

2003-10-29T02:54:00.000-08:00

Gaming in Iraq

Zeyad is a 24-year-old blogger who's website Healing Iraq is one of many Internet voices to surface from the war-torn nation in recent months. In a rare diversion from news of attacks and street-level reports on the mindset of the Iraq's citizenry Zayad recently took the time to describe the state of gaming in his homeland. The post is a brief, but interesting look at how and what Iraqis play. When the nightly news makes Iraq seem like such a far off and foreign place, it's reassuring to read that we're all not that different.

2003-10-28T01:37:00.000-08:00

Kindred Spirits

Way of the Rodent is an outstanding UK website that's chock-full of personal video game writings. This excerpt from Sickboy's tale of underage drinking and arcade hacking "Clicks, Tricks and Cider-Sicks" is a perfect example:

One of the back-seat crew, Michael Howell, had recently been suspended from school for two months and so bristled with the charisma of Alpha Idiot-Male. Out of a scraggy little ADIDAS bag (with the standard All Day I Dream About Sex scrawled over the logo), he pulled out an odd, vaguely dildo-ish device. It was a small plastic tube with a tiny button at one end and a metal prong at the other. When he pressed the button, a thrilling blue spark flashed at the end of the prong. Technically, the piezo ignition section of a pilot-lighter. “What’s that?” I asked.

“Fucking clicker, innit?”

We leaned in close, as, through a fug of meths-breath, he explained how to stick the prong into a coin slot, press the button and marvel at the free credits.

Discovering Way of the Rodent is like being introduced to a long lost brother. Thanks to Raina of 1-Up for making the introduction.

2003-10-15T03:21:00.000-07:00

Video Hits

Two clips have been in the gamer rotation lately.

The first is part of Nintendo's new "Who Are You?" campaign. The print portion of Nintendo's winter advertising push revolves around "tape ups" of famous photos or moments with the heads of Nintendo characters pasted over the heads of the band KISS or onto the Mona Lisa. This fantastical trailer (which is thought to be a movie trailer for international audinences) takes the "tape up" idea and literally runs with it.

The second clip is a parody of Yu Suzuki's Shenmue games. Both games revolved around Japanese teen Ryo Hazuki's quest to avenge the death of his father. The games immerse the player in highly detailed Japanese and Chinese cities. In order to make his way though these places Ryo, more often than not, is forced to rely upon the help and advice and strangers. This clever video by the gents at Mega64 pokes fun at the process.

Right click these links to download:

Nintendo Clip - Best Quality (4.78 MB Quicktime)
Nintendo Clip (1.77 MB Windows Media Player)
Mega 64 Shenmue Parody (24.6MB MPG)

2003-09-17T17:02:00.000-07:00

Sophia Coppola Finds Bemani

The new film Lost in Translation, aside from being a very accomplished and entertaining exploration of character, also effectively communicates the filmmaker's love of Tokyo. Director Sophia Coppola has apparently spent a lot of time in Japan (her clothes line Milk Fed has been quite successful there) and gained appreciation of the country's unique people and places. Most germane to readers of this site would be the scene in which Scarlet Johanssen soaks up the atmosphere of a Tokyo video game arcade. The camera lingers on a gamer pounding away on Takio no Tatsujin and another dexterously slapping away on another, fairly generic, bemani game. Finally, Johannsen watches a punky-looking young man (with the requisite cigarette dangling from his mouth) jam on Guitar Freaks. Most American films show brief instances of Japanese arcades or pachinko parlors to simply take advantage of the cacophonous sounds or busy environments. In Lost in Translation the character practically communes with the culture. I can't remember a single instance (besides Tron and Joysticks) in which a film has so lovingly portrayed an arcade.

2003-09-05T02:56:00.000-07:00

Welcome to My World

Earlier this week Tycho of Penny Arcade posted an extended rant when he wasn't able to buy Bombastic and Republic: The Revolution at his local Software, Etc. He went on to decry the chain for suggesting he should have pre-ordered the copy of Otogi he also wanted to purchase. "I had every intention of purchasing it," Tycho said. "Software, Etc. had no intention of holding up their end of the bargain, the Selling Videogames end."

The time has finally come to welcome Tycho and all discerning gamers to the world of the alternative. Anyone who reads underground comics or listens to independently produced music or watches obscure films already know the drill. The mall doesn't have shit. Chain stores carry nothing but stuff that will sell -- which usually equates to crap. Admittedly, it's not too tough to point out thousands of examples of best-selling popular culture that don't make the serious whatever-file cringe. But, c'mon. We all know that you have to go to the mom and pop stores to get the good stuff. Before the Internet, it used to be that you had to resort to snail mail order (that's six to eight weeks to you young 'uns) to snag that Jesus Lizard split 7" or bootleg VHS copy of Meet the Feebles. Thankfully, those days are now but a bitter memory.

I know it must be frightening to the core gamer (who's been fed nothing but the "video games are more popular than Jesus" line for the past several years) to consider that Ico and Rez are somehow related to indie-label math rock and Spanish horror films. But it's true. You're not going to find any of them in that fluorescent-lit, cinderblock box they just built in your local suburban strip mall. Like the modern hip-hop DJ, who spends his life kneeling before dusty record crates, if you want quality video games, you're going to have to dig.

2003-09-04T02:24:00.000-07:00

It Came From Japan

Those curious about import gaming should find Ara Shirinian's Gamespy column fascinating. "It Came From Japan" provides thorough previews of titles that aren't likely to make it to our shores such as Mr. Driller: Drill Land and sneak peeks of games, like Viewtiful Joe, that are poised to rock our proverbial worlds. Each column also offers helpful advice on diverse subjects such as console modding, import bargain shopping and reading video game-related Japanese.

We'll keep RSG readers informed when new columns are posted.

2003-09-03T03:11:00.000-07:00

Squashing a Bug in Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic

With all the talk of bug-riddled games of late (eg Enter the Matrix and Lara Croft Tomb Raider: The Angel of Darkness) I was pretty discouraged when I encountered an Xbox-freezing glitch in Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic. It occurred on Korriban, during a load-screen just prior to the final portion of my adventures on the planet. The loading progress bar slowly made its way to the right then stopped just before reaching the far end. My stomach sank, dreading the thought of losing 20 hours of gaming. I methodically pressed every button on the Controller S, secretly hoping that Microsoft had endowed the Xbox with its own version of Ctrl+Alt+Del. I had no such luck. I rebooted my Xbox, loaded my save game and duplicated the error. Next, I loaded an older save game. I worked my way back to the point where my character tells the head of the Sith academy that she's ready to take her final test. The game froze again.

I turned my Xbox off and walked away from the game for a couple of days. When my jones for the game would no longer let me rest, I went to the KOTOR website to see if anyone else had encountered a similar problem. I learned of a well-documented "Stealth" bug that occurs on the Sith starship Leviathan. The error occurs when players are still under the effects of their stealth field-generating belt when they enter a cut-scene. Sadly, this problem was nothing like mine.

Luckily, a kind gentleman at the LucasArts Tech Support hotline was able to solve my problem. He told me that several people had encountered the same problem that I had and told me how to rectify the situation. Apparently the Xbox has an onboard cache memory that retains information about the last three games that you've played. It seemed that my cache memory had somehow become corrupted. He suggested that I play three other games, effectively kicking KOTOR's data out of the memory. The trick worked like a charm and I'm pleased as punch to be playing the game again.

Lucas Arts Tech Support earns major Light Side points for this one.

2003-08-26T17:53:00.000-07:00

Who Watches the Writers?

Onetime Robotstreetgang contributor Kyle Orland has been hard at work on his own weblog, The Video Game Obudsman. Orland's goal is to observe and analyze "the often sloppy, lazy, biased, and unethical world of video game reporting." Recent posts include a blow-by-blow dismantling of EGM's recent redesign, a critique of Gamers.com's news-itorializing and a call for the resurrection of Next Generation magazine. This blog is required reading for the discerning consumer of video game writing.

Hopefully we'll be able to recover our archives soon and make Orland's piece available again.

2003-08-25T17:13:00.000-07:00

Hookers, Pornstars and Mobsters Invade The Sims Online

Steven Ochs, a friend of Robotstreetgang, has penned a story for AVN Online about the red light districts and criminal underworlds that have popped up in Maxis' massively multiplayer online game The Sims Online. While the news that there are gangsters roaming the streets of Alphaville isn't new, the thought of bored housewives taking on the role of pornstar Sunset Thomas or a 21-year-old college student creating her own virtual smut studio is fascinating, especially considering that the game is rated "T." Most interesting is the claim that players are cooking up these adult scenarios because there simply isn't much to do in Alphaville.

2003-08-22T18:21:00.000-07:00

How D&D Birthed Gaming

Dungeons & Dreamers: The Rise of Computer Game Culture from Geek to Chic, a new book by Brad King and John Borland, expores the roots of video gaming with full awareness that said roots are inextricably intertwined with other geek interests such as computer programming, math, science and fantasy role-play. An excerpt of the book from the pair's website details the origins of Richard Garriott, who would later become known to legions of Ultima fans as Lord British. This solid first chapter seems like an excellent starting point in the historical and cultural mapping of the wide-spread geek phenomenon of video games. I'll be reading more.

Official site.

2003-08-21T04:06:00.000-07:00

KOTOR Kicks AOTC's Ass

I hope someone at Lucasfilm is paying attention. Knights of the Old Republic, the game it seems like everybody is playing, is setting sales records, racking up killer reviews and reminding people why they liked Star Wars in the first place. I, for one, am completely hooked. Considering the fact that I'm not really a huge fan of RPGs, that's saying something. Lucas should take a long hard look at Bioware's game and take some notes.

Here's what I've learned from playing Knights of the Old Republic:

Star Wars prequels work better without the old characters: I love the fact that my character can visit places alluded to in the original films like Anchorhead on Tatooine and Dantooine. I'm doubly happy that I haven't run into Hammerhead's great-grandfather or Snaggletooth's second uncle on his mother's side.

Master Yoda must have some kind of speech impediment: I've spoken to my Jedi masters quite a bit and the one that looks like he's from the same species as Yoda hasn't uttered a single ass-backwards sentence. With Yoda's brain something is wrong there is.

Droids can be evil: The surly assassin robot HK-47 is pure genius. Six years from now, when George Lucas sits down to fiddle, enhance, re-edit, and re-think Episodes I, II and III he needs to morph C3-PO and R2-D2 into evil robots who serve Count Dooku. That, at least would explain why R2-D2 can fly - his primary function is to rain droid death from the sky!

Everybody loves a scoundrel: Of all the characters Lucas carbon-copied for his new trilogy, he forgot Han Solo. I started my character, Tura Satana, in the character class Scoundrel. She's currently taking walking the path of the Jedi, much like the samurai that inspired Lucas, Mushashi Miyamoto. Shame on Lucas for forgetting to include a loveable rapscallion in his the prequels..

Bounty hunters are bad-ass: Ever notice that every bounty hunter in the new trilogy dies? In the original trilogy only a few of them croaked. Sure Calo Nord, the bounty hunter baddie in KOTOR was a bit of a pushover, but he sure as heck outlasted Zam Wessel.

The old soundtracks remain the best soundtracks: It may not be time for John Williams to put down his baton just yet, but after reliving some of the original score's best moments in Knights of the Old Republic, it's fairly obvious that his newer work doesn't even come close.

2003-08-07T17:13:00.000-07:00

Clueless News

Lazy journalists just love to drag out the tired, "not just for kids anymore" line when hacking out articles about comic books. When assigned a porn expose, they usualy dust off a mystical, and highly doubtful sales figure. This, uncredited (natch) piece of journalism from Sixty Minutes II uses both tacts, then namedrops several old, poorly-reviewed, unpopular games such as BMX XXX, The Sims and "Bill Gates' favorite game" Fusion Frenzy to bolster their cred.

Talk about having their finger on the pulse.

2003-07-23T02:52:00.000-07:00

A Must-Read Video Game Zine

Editor Raina Lee and Art Director John Pham have been slaving over hot Powerbooks for the past several months to deliver the biggest and best looking edition of 1-Up yet. Those who aren't familiar with the publication are in for a big surprise. 1-Up #3 features over 100 pages of reviews, comics, essays and news about classic and contemporary gaming. The issue's contents include an interview with Pac Man expert Billy Mitchell, a profile of Mac lan maniacs c-trl and a 21-page Street Fighter II super-section. Each issue comes with one of a series of silk-screened "Imaginary Street Fighter II Character" trading cards.

The issue also contains two stories by Robotsteetgang editors Mike Benson ("Army Of None" on his experience playing America's Army with art by Kozyndan) and Gus Mastrapa ("Jill Played Atari" which is beautifully illustrated by Souther Salazar and "This Animal Life" -- a meditation on Animal Crossing).

1-Up #3 is available for $13 ppd. Contact orders@1up-zine.com to make a purchase via Pay Pal.

Lovers of old-school gaming and the new-school D.I.Y. ethic will also want to snag the first two issues of 1-Up since this will probably be their last silk-screened print run.

Those who live in the Los Angeles area are invited to attend the 1-Up #3 release party on Saturday, July 26 at 6PM. The festivities will be held at Meltdown Comics with live performances by The Minibosses and DJ Dolphinforce.

Take a gander at the limited edition silkscreen commemorating the party.

2003-07-22T16:56:00.000-07:00

The World After Pong

Alex de Jong and Marc Schuilenburg, two deep thinkers from Dutch group Studio Popcorn, have written a scholarly piece concerning a new form of urban development – that of the MMORPG and its contemporaries. Calling this the “mediapolis,” the authors deliberate this post-modern, dislocated city’s function and form and trace its roots to id software, the open-source movement, and games such as Ultima Online and Everquest. That cities (or at least the concept of cities) no longer require a physical space to exist in is an idea that proves fascinating to the authors and should interest any who have participated, in one way or the other, in the creation of an online world that, despite claims to the contrary, resembles our own world as much or more than it does that of the Star Wars Universe or Britannia in terms of social customs and systems of thought. As MMORPG’s mature, these cities will only grow more “real” to their participants and what the authors term the “scenius” -- community development of game worlds as opposed to a single author or company -- will further enhance that reality. Article may be accessed here:

“The World After Pong”

Well worth the read.

akumono

2003-07-17T05:56:00.000-07:00

Enemy Territory

Know it. Play it. Love it.

This game is the most fun I've had playing a multiplayer FPS since, well, the original RTCW. In any case, download this puppy (all 270 megs) and treat yourself to some tremendous team based combat and a remarkably deep experience that leaves you with the question: why didn't they expand this sucker into a full game? And did I say it's free? It is. No strings attached.

Medic!

akumono

2003-07-14T12:44:00.000-07:00

Guest Rant

Veteran video game journalist Ara Shirinian gets a taste of his own medicine in this meditaion on measuring creative product with a yardstick.

The Futility of Ratings

Having written about games in various capacities for over a third of my life, I recently got my first taste of what it was like to be on the opposite side of the fence from where I usually stand. In the first four months of 2003 I planned, designed and implemented a map design for play in Unreal Tournament 2003.

Now, I am no stranger to software development, but this little project of mine was quite different. First, because I convinced myself that my future career would depend on the quality of the resulting product. Second, because it was my only substantial and committed attempt I had ever made in my life at tackling actual game development. Third, because upon completion of the project, I would receive ratings and reviews from actual players whom I had never met before.

My plan was to complete a map with a few novel features within the space of about three to six months. The beauty of the tools that I was working with was that they were all completely accessible to end users. If you buy a new copy of Unreal (whatever is the latest version), you automatically get the complete suite of tools in order to build levels and modify the game to your liking. This activity is tremendously more difficult than say, creating a custom park in your favorite extreme sports game, but it's also infinitely easier than writing your own engine and starting from scratch.

Game development, regardless of scale, is a far more discombobulated process than most people imagine. If you are a mortal like I am, you have to resign yourself to continuously modifying your implementation when the result does not fit your intended design. Mind you, the result never, ever exactly fits your intended design. If you are to make any progress within a limited amount of time, your plans must be malleable. You have to keep throwing out things that don't work, and you have to keep bending the ones that sort-of-work in order for gameplay to remain sensible.

After four months and somewhere between 350-400 hours of work, I finally completed a map that I was satisfied with. The great thing about Unreal is that there is a huge community of fans online. There are also several web sites that are designed for the primary purpose of advertising, distributing, and evaluating user-created maps and modifications. So I submitted my map to all the sites that I could find, and then I braced myself for elite hax0r rapeage.

So far, I've gotten ratings that varied all the way from a 5/10 to an 8/10. But my emotional experience in reading these reviews and the subsequent ratings was surprisingly enlightening. I felt like I could understand why some developers would want to call up the punk-ass reviewer and chew them out about the abysmally low score that their game received. Plus, after being subjected to this huge range of commentary, I began to think a little more deeply about the purpose and function of ratings.

The point of a rating is to somehow compress, summarize and encapsulate everything about the game into one metric that represents its level of quality. Everybody loves ratings. There is something naturally pleasing about knowing that product A is better than product B, by exactly 137 units. You are lulled into a sense of comfort. You feel satisfied by the authority and finality of a cold, precise number.

You can rate anything without too much trouble, so long as your metric is well defined. The futility in rating something like a game comes from the fact that not only is the metric completely undefined, but everybody is using a different metric! The situation is even worse than that, because giving a game one rating is like averaging, in some arbitrary fashion, an arbitrarily-sized collection of arbitrary ratings.

The video game is such a hopelessly complex amalgam of media. You have 2D art, you have 3D art, you have animation, you have interface design, you have gameplay design, you have enemy behavior, you have a system of feedback and rewards, you have sound effects, you have music, you have sound and music coordinated in special ways with gameplay. Each subcategory of a game can be broken down into several more subcategories, and each one of those can be rated in some way or another. How are you really supposed to rate a game, anyway?

Just because I play a game, and it feels like an "8," is that meaningful to anyone except myself? The only point in my life when I really felt like ratings were useful was when I was in high school and I read EGM all the time. They had the same four people rate all the same games each month. Over time, it was possible to gain an understanding of what each person valued in a video game by comparing their reactions. Only after knowing that did the ratings mean anything. Unfortunately, EGM does not do this anymore, as they seem to have a random collection of reviewers tackle each game. None of the other American magazines have ever had any rating system that came close.

Gamers' preferences are too varied, and games are too varied these days. It seems the best way to rate games is either in the aggregate, a la old school EGM and Famitsu, or to resort to actual reading / writing. Gamers should be less trustworthy of numerical ratings, and reviewers should be more sensitive to the fact that just because you don't like a particular feature, it doesn't mean that Johnny Gamer won't or shouldn't like it either.

-Ara Shirinian

2003-06-27T17:26:00.000-07:00

Star Wars is for Suckers

A long time ago, in an office far, far away (in San Diego), a decision was made to choose the dark side. The result: EverQuest 2 - The Force is Not With Us. To wit, Sony Online Entertainment dropped the highly anticipated MMORPG Star Wars Galaxies on the heads of fanboys everywhere yesterday and the initial reaction is nowhere near the rabid hysteria one might expect. In fact, early impressions of the game are negative and much of the available internet scuttlebutt is dismissive, as this Fark thread shows.

So what went wrong? Everybody can agree that the game was released too early -- something proven yesterday when all servers were down on the game's first day of release. That's certainly an interesting way to reward those who have dropped $50 on a game. Further issues people have with SWG are its uninspired combat, tedious crafting, lack of vehicles or rideable creatures, derivative gameplay, etc. Essentially, the developers have taken the EverQuest model and slapped some Star Wars graphics over it while promising that, some day, things will improve. I think everyone can agree that waiting indefinitely for an X-Wing to fly or even a landspeeder to cruise around Tatooine in is simply something that should not happen in a game about the Star Wars Universe. For a retail price of $50 and then a monthly fee of $15, that sort of thing should be included from the word go.

SWG is not alone in its failures. With somewhat laughable regularity, MMORPG's are released before they're ready. Anarchy Online and WWII Online are two that immediately come to mind. It's a tough thing to balance the needs of development with the need for revenue and most companies are unable to get it right. SWG is just the most recent in a long line of MMORPG's to err on the side of revenue.

But, you're probably saying to yourself right now, "This is STAR WARS!!! This shouldn't happen!!" And I'm inclined to agree. If there's any game that could have had been postponed without much damage, this is it. But, as we have seen with many Star Wars games, films, and holiday specials, quality is rarely of much concern. The quick dollar is the good dollar. Keep the kids buying, goddamnit!

Why do we still care about Star Wars? We have been betrayed and let down countless times and still, we manage to stay excited about anything with the Star Wars stamp. Why? WHY? Something to tackle in a longer column.

Anyway, I should admit that I played the SWG beta and, unsurprisingly, was underwhelmed like everyone else online. I found the game tedious, uninspired, and lacking the least bit of innovation. I could elaborate, but I'm getting depressed thinking about Star Wars. Attack of the Clones has been on HBO all week and putting these two turds together in my mind creates some kind of super-turd that is threatening to consume my soul. The only way to avoid such an occurrence is to avoid thinking about it anymore. Farewell, my young Padouins!

2003-06-25T08:47:00.000-07:00

Sphincter Cell

It's a well known (and often joked about) fact that porn companies are fond of tweaking film titles to add an extra bit of recognition to their otherwise interchangeable videos. Now, smutmongers are beginning to give video games the cultural thumbs up with titles like Jewel Raider, Space Invaderz and Grand Theft Anal. It's a good thing Namco changed Pac Man's name before bringing him to the states.

All links (except for Pac Man) are probably not safe for work.

2003-06-21T17:33:00.000-07:00

Pong PS

Fark's world-famous army of Photoshop enthusiasts have turned out a minor masterpiece of modern-day video game commentary and meta-humor. The thread pits the Farkers against a pic of a babe showing off an old-school Pong cabinet. I particularly liked this hand-crafted shot by JohnnyC with it's caption, "1913 - The first Pong Machines roll off the line in Detroit, Michigan." Kudos to all involved.

2003-06-20T18:27:00.000-07:00

Another Friday Fan Page

BelPowerslave of Whipass Gaming has created a T&A-heavy homage to female video game characters called "A Tribute to the Women of Gaming." The image is impressive, but a little misleading since BelPowerslave has chosen to focus on only their asthetic contributions. The inclusion of the not-so-slender Ms. Pac Man seems the only nod toward other body types.

2003-06-18T17:35:00.000-07:00

Onward Christian Gamers

The Christian Broadcasting Network's E3 coverage dwells on "sex, violence and witchcraft" present in popular video games. The article makes no mention of the family-friendly fare found at the show (which admittedly seems few and far between). Oddly, they quote Ralph Bagley, founder of N'Lighning Software, yet fail to plug his Christian-oriented titles Catechumen and Ominous Horizons: A Paladin's Calling. Instead, they focus on Congressman Joe Baca's desire for legislation to prevent minors from buying M-Rated games.

2003-06-13T16:38:00.000-07:00

Friday Fanpage

Michael Huang's tribute to composer Nobuo Uematsu (the man behind Squaresoft's Final Fantasy soundtracks) features sheet music, hand-made midi and mp3 files and, most interestingly, a concert announcement. On June 27th 2003, the Delano Clarinet Choir will perform selections from Final Fantasy VII, IX, X and XI. The concert takes place at 1:00 PM at the Carnation Plaza Stage inside Anaheim, California's Disneyland.

Nobuo Uematsu Fan Page
Delano Clarinet Choir Page

2003-06-11T13:48:00.000-07:00

Requiem of Parody

I finally bought a Gameboy Advance SP this past weekend, in a sexy shade of silver. I bought the latest Castlevania game for it, subtitled Aria of Sorrow. It's the third such game for the GBA, following up previous entries Harmony of Dissonance, and Circle of the Moon. It's a quality title with a keen sense of pacing that's missing from the earlier games. I bring this up so that I can link to a cute parody that Jason sent in:

Castlevania Subtitle Generator

Incidentally, these could also be names of Cure songs.

2003-06-09T15:54:00.000-07:00

Press Up+B to Poke Fun

The Onion, the web's premier satire site, has made a long habit of skewering video games and the people who play them. Past articles have explored the meaning of Solid Snake's existence, exposed workplace safety issues that endanger digital characters and illuminated the sensitive side of video game publishers. The latest issue features an opinion piece that answers the nagging question that all gamers must someday face; "Who will carry on my Playstation 2 Adventures When I'm Gone?"

2003-06-04T14:52:00.000-07:00

Fragging Now Sanctioned by the 8th U.S. Circuit Court

In today's big video game news, the 8th U.S. Circuit Court took a BFG to a St. Louis County ordinance that outlawed the sale and/or rental of totally awesome (read: violent and/or sexual) video games to those unlucky enough to be under the age of 17. The court found that such a law violated the First Amendment. At first glance, this seems all fine and good, but the ruling isn't quite as far-reaching as you would think:

"The industry challenged provisions regarding violence but not sex, so the judges dealt with just that issue. The appeals court did not specifically overturn Limbaugh's ruling but remanded it to the trial court with directions to issue an injunction against the law that conforms to the panel's reasoning."

Read the article. It's good for you. Then get back to shotgunning, sniping, spawn killing, flamethrowing, or whatever type of digital mayhem you prefer. Next time your girlfriend complains you've been playing too many violent video games just say "Hey, it's my First Amendment right!" As Judge Morris Sheppard Arnold wrote in the court's opinion: "These gibs are, in fact, ludicrous."

2003-06-03T20:13:00.000-07:00

It’s All a Blur

Mike Benson Recounts His Days on the E3 Floor

Relax; I won’t bore you with another round-up of the games at E3. By now, you’ve already read about a million of them, and I’m sure they were just fine. In fact, I couldn’t recap the show even if I wanted to. Here’s all I remember of it:

1. Cold concrete steps outside the convention center, early in the morning, as my crew and I prepare to go inside and start filming. I’m sitting on them, or kneeling, listening to a speech about walkie-talkie etiquette. I start to shiver, and clutch my flimsy Styrofoam cup of 7-11 coffee, which smells like a mixture of vanilla and ashtray.

2. Staring up at the baseball-field-sized poster for Rockstar’s upcoming videogame adaptation of The Warriors, Walter Hill’s classic 1979 cult film. Shifting my weight from side-to-side, I remember first watching the movie in high school with my friend Rebecca. We were crying with laughter, rewinding the scene where baddie Luther taunts the protagonists with “Warriors…Come out and playyy…”

3. Trailing Lance Bass with a throng of other production assistants as I help run security for his appearance. We have to follow him from the South to the West Hall, and make sure he isn’t mobbed by frantic fans. Of course, since E3 is attended primarily by men in their late 20s, that problem never presents itself. As we walk hurriedly towards the entrance doors, one angry attendee remarks sarcastically, “Why don’t you guys fan out a bit and take up more of the aisle!” Momentarily, I feel angry.

4. A very heavy backpack, full of camera equipment that eventually pulls my shoulders down to my waist.

I was at the show for all three days, and had a very fun time this year, probably because I helped film the show. We worked in a group towards a common goal, and the mixture of camaraderie and exhaustion made us punchy. By the end, we were laughing at anything and everything that moved, even if it wasn’t cel-shaded.

-Mike Benson

2003-06-03T17:46:00.000-07:00

Gaming in LA

LA Weekly's A Considerable Town column is becoming an unlikely, yet frequent outlet for intriguing video game writing. War Games: Playing the First Battle of the 26th Century by Paul Cullum sits in on a series of Halo parties organized by ex-Mr. Show writers. Literary Life: Attempting To Pass the Buck by RSG friend Alec Hanley Bemis follows author D.B. Weiss in his attempts to promote his game-centric novel Lucky Wander Boy.

War Games Link
Literary Life Link
(scroll down for both)

2003-05-27T09:45:00.000-07:00

The Best of the Other Stuff

RSG's Guide to Reticle-Free E3 Games

There's been plenty of post-E3 hype surrounding big budget sequels, updates of classic games, first-person shooters and big-budget sequels that update classic-first person shooters. I have to admit that one or two of the following games could fit into one of the aforementioned categories. Regardless, here's my short list of intriguing games from E3 2003.

Stage Debut: Shigeru Miyamoto showed this title during a Nintendo breakfast meeting. The game looks to have less of a point than Animal Crossing, which in my mind is a good thing. Characters can be scanned into the game using the E-Reader. Little else is known about the game, except for the fact that a team of three developers has been working on this mystery game for three years.

Shigeru Miyamoto's 4 player Pac Man: One player controls Pac Man on the Gameboy Advance while the other three play Ghosts on the TV screen. The Gamecube players only see a small portion of the maze, while Pac Man can see the entire maze. The idea is simple and brilliant.

Grabbed by the Ghoulies:Of the three games Rare had to offer this year, this one was the most interesting. The game's look and tone recalled Edward Gorey with combat system that plays like Robotron 2084. Look for cameo appearances of Rare characters Banjo and Kazooie in the game.

Uru: I'm very disappointed that I walked past this game. It's a sequel to Myst and Riven produced by the original creators, the Rand brothers. The game will be the first to allow cooperative play with multiple players online. I long for the day when opening a secret door was exciting.

Maximo VS. Army of Zin: The original Maximo, a pitch-perfect 3D platformer based on the arcade classic Ghosts and Goblins, is the only game Capcom has managed to get right in quite a while. This sequel adds a smidgen of depth to the game by introducing characters that you can talk to.

Billy Hatcher and the Giant Egg: Sonic Team introduces new a Monkeyball-style rolling element to the 3D platformer. This playful game (the main character is a boy dressed in a chicken costume who rolls giant eggs around) looks promising.

Viewtiful Joe: This game earns huge points for proving that the cel-shaded look isn't just a fad, but a stylistic step into a new direction

Tron 2.0 Okay. The game's both a sequel and an old-school update. But as an old-school Tron devotee I just can't help being a teensy bit excited about experiencing the day-glow world of Tron in high-tech, 3D glory.

-Gus Mastrapa

2003-05-13T16:29:00.000-07:00

Nintendo: On the Spot

RSG Editor Gus Mastrapa Reports from Nintendo's E3 Media Briefing

With Jurassic 5's "What's Golden" bumping from the ballroom's speakers, it's not hard to see the delicate position Nintendo is attempting to take in the "console war." J5's rhymes and beats are hip and current, yet family friendly. The hip-hop group innovates, while looking to the past for inspiration. For decades Nintendo has succeeded with this formula, but the demands of the core gamer seem to be weakening their position.

To feed this hunger of the hardcore, Nintendo intends to cede more ground this year to popular, violent, graphics-heavy games. Unfortunately, Resident Evil 4 and Metal Gear Solid: Twin Snakes, both previewed at the conference, seem to offer more of the same. Geist, on the other hand, published by Nintendo in collaboration with N-Space, adds a touch of innovation to typical genre gaming. At first glance, the game appears to be an everyday first-person shooter. But the player actually controls a ghost, who can bounce from body to body, thus introducing the potential for a unique puzzle experience to the game.

Despite leanings toward mature content Nintendo still refuses to allow their stable of characters to be transformed by gaming industry trends. "Mario will never start shooting hookers," George Harrison, senior vice-president of Nintendo of America quipped at the press conference. Nintendo gave several sneak peeks of Nintendo's characters doing what they do with new twists. Mario Kart: Double Dash adds an additional passenger to racing vehicles, Pikmin 2 adds co-op play and Legend of Zelda: Four Swords brings GBA play to the Gamecube.

Nintendo's steady movement toward more grown-up games, could spell doom to traditionalists. But, their steadfast determination to keep a foundation firmly rooted in kid-friendly games tells another story. Satoru Iwata, Nintendo president, stated that the company's intention was to make games for "all ages, all personalities and all tastes," claiming that their goal was to reach the "true mass market." While Rock Star makes a quick buck with Grand Theft Auto: Vice City and Xbox and Playstation continue to chase the deceptively large niche of core gamers. Nintendo appears to have their eye on the bigger prize -- the rest of the population. Who knows? They might just pull it off.

-Gus Mastrapa

Watch this spot for more E3 coverage.

2003-05-07T10:31:00.000-07:00

Rodriguez Channels Tron

Spy Kids 3: Game Over follows in the grand tradition of Jaws and Friday the 13th with a three dimensional third installment. The plot revolves around an evil video game created by Sylvester Stallone (no, not Judge Dredd for the SNES), which apparently sucks players into its game world. Rumor has it that the development team behind Evercrack: The Movie are now scrambling for a new plot.

Spy Kids 3 Trailer

2003-05-06T00:47:00.000-07:00

Prophets of Doom

Wagner James Au of Salon recently reviewed David Kushner's "Masters of Doom" a biography of John Carmack and John Romero, the fragtastic duo behind id Software. Au's opinion of the book is favorable, but he accuses Kushner of giving the game developers too much credit as pioneers considering Blue Sky Productions' Ultima Underworld beat id to the 3-D punch. Gamespy has three excerpts of the book and an interview with the author. The latest issue of Wired features "Prepare to Meet Thy Doom" a piece by Kushner which focuses on Doom III and Carmack's gift for innovation.

2003-05-05T16:35:00.000-07:00

Changes

Robot Street Gang experienced a meltdown recently. We're relaunching the site with the easier to handle Blogger software suite. If you're reading this message on the very temporary Blogspot domain (www.robotstreetgang.blogspot.com) click here to check out the real deal. Please be patient with us as we revamp the site. If you know anything about PHP please drop us an email. We could use some help recovering all of our old posts.

2003-03-17T22:00:00.000-08:00

The End is Near

When an MMORPG is being beta tested the virtual world being developed usually isn't very "persistant" yet. Debugs and wipes mean frequent doomsdays for play-testers. Writer Sandi Tan found a fascinating letter in the wreckage of Sims Online Beta test last year and published it in LA Weekly's Considerable Town column.

Link (scroll to the bottom for the story text)

2003-03-16T15:19:00.000-08:00

A Very Special Touched By An Angel

Last night, the hard-hitting CBS family program dealt with video game violence. In episode #918, "Virtual Reality", a pair of kids nearly kills a young woman when imitating their favorite game, Carjack 2000. Della Resse offered these words of wisdom during the episode's denouement.

Children want all sorts of things. They want candy. They want to stay up late. They want games not meant for them. And I have a word that you can use to answer them. The word is, "No." N. O. A big dose of vitamin No. Now, you would not allow your children to eat only fast food every day. So why are you allowing them to learn how to murder people. Look on the box, people. Think of what you're doing. It's your children's future. This court is adjourned.

Link / Real Video

2003-03-15T13:53:00.000-08:00

Lucky Wander Boy

D.B Weiss's new novel, Lucky Wander Boy, may be the first novel to tap into Generation X's long, convoluted and emotional relationship with video games.

The following day, my mother took my grandmother to Presbyterian St. Luke's Hospital for a checkup, where the doctor told her that the chemo was working. Her cancer had not retreated, but it had not advanced either. My mother seemed hopeful, which lifted my father's spirits, and mine. Making the connections I could hardly expect anyone else to make, I retreated to the basement for more Microsurgeon, hitting Reset on the Intellivision until it delivered patient #23. As I got better at the game, I was able to bring all of #23's systems up to good condition, and once a body region was in good shape, it stayed that way and never got bad again. In Microsurgeon, health was forever. Once, when my mother came down to check on me as I sat cross-legged on my orange vinyl cushion, I told her what I was doing.
I'm killing Grammy's tumor cells," I said.
Thinking I was being metaphorical, she kissed me on the head.

Read the full excerpt here.

2002-08-07T00:38:00.000-07:00

Recurring Intelligent Qube

Special Contributor Kyle Orland confides his deepest, darkest fears, spurred on by 1997's Intelligent Qube for the PSOne.

Hello, doctor. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. Work is going well. My girlfriend is good. Look, can we dispense with the pleasantries please? This session is costing me a lot, and I really need your help. Thank you.

Well, it started about three weeks ago, really. The dream always starts the same way: I’m standing alone on a vast, flat grid of Cubes. Each one is about twice my height in any direction. Sometimes they seem to be made of granite, other times they glow the color of molten lava, and others still they have a slick, marbleized finish. There must be hundreds of these Cubes, arranged in rows of about half-a-dozen, stretching off into the distance farther than I can see. The sky around me is pitch black, like I’m in outer space, but I can still breath and there’s gravity and everything like that. There are no stars dotting the sky, just a never-ending blackness surrounding me.

I try to move and find that I can run in any direction, but the movement feels odd. It’s as if I’m looking down on myself from outside of myself, y’know? Like I’m high above the situation, but still firmly rooted on the ground at the same time. It’s hard to explain, but I imagine it’s like what a guardian angel must feel when looking down on his or her ward. But I’m getting off track…

So usually I just stand there for a few seconds, marveling at the oddity of my surroundings, when all of a sudden more Cubes start rising up from the grid. One by one, starting at the far edge, each row fills up with these huge Cubes, just sprouting up right from the ground. I watch, awestruck, as the wave of Cubes sweeps me off my feet and sends me tumbling down and backwards, finally throwing me back onto the grid with a loud “oomph!”

As I get up and start to regain my senses, some of the Cubes in the first few rows start to change colors. Some turn an odd, emerald green while others become as black as the encroaching night sky surrounding me. Most retain their original color, however. Then, without warning, the Cubes start advancing towards me, each row turning on its axis like a log rolling down a hill, except with corners.

I’m naturally overwhelmed by the encroaching presence of this giant, marching phalanx, so I begin to run away. After a few seconds, though, I’m confronted with the back edge of the grid and a view into an endless, gaping black void. I’m caught between a rock and a hard place, if you’ll excuse the expression. I don’t like the idea of falling in nothingness forever, so I decide to try and stand my ground against the rolling cubes.

At this point I always try a number of unsuccessful methods for stopping the invading Cubes! I try pushing against them, only to find their weight and momentum overpowering, forcing me back yet again. I try to jump over the top of them, but it’s as if my feet are glued to the floor; I can run, but I can’t leap off the ground! Finally, I try looking for any cracks in the intruding wall of bricks, only to find it utterly seamless.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, I lose track of my position for a moment and I’m crushed by one of the rolling Cubes. I expect the weight to be terrible, but instead the Cubes feel almost hollow as they pass over me. I find myself momentarily squashed flat as a pancake only to spring back to my usual form a few seconds later, sort of like a cartoon character. The Cubes continue to roll past me, faster then before, until they fall off into the void. Then I hear a loud, booming voice cry out: “Again,” his words appearing in a stark white contrast against the blackness of the sky. The next few rows of exposed Cubes change colors, in the same pattern as the last ones, and then they again begin to advance towards me.

Usually at this point I’m feeling grateful to be alive, but still a little stressed out from the whole surreal experience. I try to release my pent up stress energy using that technique you taught me in our session last month. You remember, don’t you? ‘Take a deep breath, hold it for a split-second, and then blow it out with all your force.’ Well, anyway, I do that and, to my surprise, I find that the Cube on the grid below me has started to shine in an eerie blue glow. The sudden change in my surroundings startles me and I try to wish the glow away with a thought. To my amazement, this works. The blue Cube glows a fiery red color for a moment, and then returns to its normal state with an electronic whooshing sound. All I had to do was think it and it was so! It was as easy as pushing a button!

So while all this is happening the Cubes are still moving towards me. By the time I’m done marveling at my newfound powers they’re usually right on top of me. Just as they’re about to crush me, though, I rush back, narrowly avoiding disaster. That’s when I find that I’ve inadvertently lit up another section of the grid with the blue glow. As the Cubes continue to advance they slowly roll over the glowing section, blocking it from view.

It’s then that I figure out the ultimate purpose of my new powers. When I will the blue section out of existence with my thoughts, the Cube directly above it dissolves in a brilliant flash of white light. I suddenly feel very relieved: I’ve found a way to conquer the Cubes. I think this has something to do with what you told me about trying to conquer my fears. But you’re the doctor, you’d know better than me.

Well, the rest of the dream advances pretty methodically after that. I slowly figure out that each arrangement of advancing Cubes represent a puzzle, one in which I have to destroy all but the black Cubes before I’m forced over the back edge of the grid. The green colored Cubes are a great help in this, as they can leave emerald impressions on the grid that have even more destructive power than my blue ‘stress bombs,’ as I like to call them. If I fail to destroy them all, then the grid becomes shorter, leaving me with less room to maneuver around the rolling Cubes.

As I destroy row after row of the Cubes more rise up to take their place, in a seemingly endless cycle. No matter how many I destroy, it always seems there are twice as many to take it’s place. It feels as if my life is destined to be a never-ending pattern of rolling Cubes!

How does it end? Well, usually the ever-increasing difficulty of the puzzle Cubes overwhelms me and I’m pushed over the back edge of the grid. As I fall into the blackness surrounding me, along with the Cubes that were my downfall, I can’t help but evaluate my performance, wondering how I could have done better. I’ve developed an elaborate point system to measure my performance in each night’s dream. I’ve outlined it on this piece of paper if you’d like to see it. Oh. Maybe later then.

Anyway, that’s not always how the dream ends. Sometimes, if I’m having a really good night, after I’ve destroyed what must be thousands of Cubes I’ll find myself frozen in place, as if time has stopped. The grid around me starts falling apart, row by row, until I’m left standing on the only remaining Cube in the entire field. As the lone Cube starts lowering down into the void I find I’m still frozen, powerless to do anything but watch my descent. A few seconds later, I wake up.

Well that’s all there is, doc. Every night for the past three weeks it’s been the same thing. I feel like I’m going out of my mind here, doc! What does it all mean? I mean, what are those Cubes supposed to represent? Why do they just keep coming? And the void, do you think that has anything to do with the abandonment issues we talked about with my… what? What do you mean my time is up?!? It can’t have been an hour already! Oh, but doc, I need some answers here! It’s just all so weird! I can’t figure any of it out! No, it can’t wait until next month! I can’t take another night of those Cubes rolling towards me! Doctor, plea — hey! Doc, tell the security guard to take his hands off me! Help! Help! Don’t send me back to the Cubes! I can’t stand another night of this! HELP!

--Kyle Orland

2002-07-19T00:29:00.000-07:00

Dracula X is the Greatest Game Ever Made

Now, normally I'm not one to gush about a game like this or to engage in such superlatives. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm fiercely critical of lots of video games. Most games are crap, because the machine producing them is one that is optimized for short-term commerical profit, not for making good games. However, once in a very long while, something truly spectacular comes out. One of these in particular is Akumajou Dracula X: Chi no Rondo, which was released on CD-ROM for the PC Engine (The Japanese analogue of the Turbografx-16) around 1993. Unfortunately, it was only released in Japan, so most American gamers never got to see it or play it. Over time, Dracula X's reputation grew to command a ridiculously high price in the used-game collector's market. Its high collectible value made it even less accessible to the gaming masses.

So here I am to tell you how wonderful and unique this game is. If you have any means of playing this game yourself (hopefully not via an emulator) I strongly suggest you do so. First of all, I should note that Dracula X is part of the Castlevania series of games. It is the direct predecessor to Castlevania: Symphony of the Night (SOTN) which was released in America for the PlayStation around 1998 and was also very highly regarded among gamers. In Japan, SOTN's original title is Akumajou Dracula X: Gekka no Yasoukyoku. To keep it simple, I'll refer to the PlayStation game as SOTN and the PC Engine game as Dracula X. The lineage is important, because it explains the significance and importance of the first Dracula X. A lot of the unique details and elements that made SOTN so cool originally appeared in Dracula X. It also shows how cleverly the makers intertwined the game with the rest of the series. For example, the burning town in Stage 1 is not just any town, it's Aljiba Town, which appeared first in Castlevania II: Simon's Quest. Those who have played the older game will immediately recognize its similar layout. You can even walk up to and read the sign that marks the town's entrance. Most of the enemies in SOTN are not new; they actually first appeared in Dracula X.

One element that has never really been done in a game before is that the initial prologue stage in SOTN is actually a re-enactment of the very last stage in Dracula X. What makes it so special is that the interface elements and characters, even the stage's title graphics are more consistent with Dracula X than what you encounter for the rest of SOTN. You don't just watch what happened in the last game, you PLAY what happened in the last game.

Each pixel and moment in this game was crafted with such thought and care that has never been seen before or since, and possibly may never be surpassed. For example, each boss in this game has a special dramatic entrance. In Stage 1, as you walk toward the gate of the castle, you can see the Wyvern flying in the distance across the sky. In another instance, you can see the Serpent boss' body peek out of the lake from far away before it submerges to approach you. The Stage 4 boss, Minotaurus, enters the screen from a dark doorway, but for several moments before its body appears you can only see its glowing eyes. What makes the bosses even more believeable as evil entities that really want to kill you is that most of them have special desperation attacks thatare only unleashed as they die. Using its very last ounce of energy as a last-ditch attempt to even the score, the Serpent's skeleton bursts straight out of the water immediately under your feet, right after you thought you saw the last of it.

Even the interface elements are special. The boss' energy meters are intertwined by some kind of skeletal dragon. When the boss dies, its energy meter crumbles toward the ground. Really, I could keep going on for pages but you get the idea. Here are just a few more neat visual devices:

• Usually, you can find pieces of meat by whipping away certain parts of walls (this is a standard Castlevania game element). In one instance, there's a little mouse on the ground that runs into its hole if you chase it. Whipping at the hole reveals a piece of meat with a little chunk already nibbled away.

• In one section of the castle, a swarm of insects surrounds a light. If you destroy the light, the swarm is attracted to either another light, or your head, whichever is closer. This doesn't impact the game functionally.

• There is a particular ghost-type enemy with a rifle that shoots at you. After firing two shots, the enemy stops to let the empty shells fall to the ground, then re-loads two more shells one at a time.

• Here and there, certain statues actually point to secret points of interest.

• Most enemies you meet only appear once, or only appear in one small section of the game.

The coolest thing of all is the flow of gameplay. There are a couple noteworthy elements in particular. First, when you fall into a hole, in most cases instead of falling to your death (as you would expect), you fall into a completely new area! The stages are semi-linear, as there is a beginning and a definite end to each stage, but there are multiple secret routes to be found in each one. Finishing a stage by traveling via the secret route will present a new boss to battle and will lead to another secret stage. Next, there is a special second character you can control, but only if you're able to rescue her from somewhere in the castle. This kind of an event is shocking, as at first there's really no sign to suggest that you could actually control one of two characters in the game. Theoretically, it's possible to complete the game without ever knowing about it.

After lurking though several discussion boards, I found out that there was quite a lot of sentiments that expressed dissatisfaction with Dracula X, that it was over-rated, nothing special. First of all, it seems as though most of the people who are saying these things are playing Dracula X for the first time through an emulator. Although the emulators are pretty good these days, if you are trying to play this game using a keyboard then your situation is hopeless. Secondly, those who have played it in the manner which it was designed and still don't like it I think are concentrating too much on graphics. Okay, you know what? The graphics are not the most impressive thing in this game. Instead, look at the exquisite detail in the animation, the sheer variety and ingenuity behind all the enemies and environments, behaviors and interactions. Most impressive of all is that there is a well-balanced, accessible and playable game at the very foundation. To combine so many qualities into one game successfully is so rare, it only happens once or twice in a decade. For the 1990s, Dracula X was that game.

-- Ara Shirinian

2002-06-13T02:07:00.000-07:00

Pixelized Seduction

Can Video Games Learn From the Death of Comic Books?

Video games aren't just for kids anymore. At least that's what folks are saying now that Rockstar's hyper-violent Grand Theft Auto III and State of Emergency began flying off shelves.

Those same pundits had similar words for comic books 15 years ago. Revisions of the superhero myth in Frank Miller's Dark Knight Returns and Alan Moore's The Watchmen spoke to the bearded, postgrad intellectual as much as they thrilled the BMX-riding 11-year-old crowd. Maus portrayed Nazis as cats and Jews as mice, telling a tale of the Holocaust in a way that only comics could. Art Spiegelman earned a Pulitzer Prize for his efforts. Comics enjoyed notoriety, popularity, a modicum of respect and one last moment in the sun. Fans, speculators and nostalgia-seekers scooped up every variant cover of Marvel's X-Men relaunch. Todd McFarlane's narratively thin reimagining of Spider-man myth catapulted the artist into semi-celebrity. At the time it seemed as if most everyone was into comics. Now, with sales plummeting to miserable lows, it looks like comics aren't for anybody anymore.

Video games could be traveling down this same geek-worn path. Censorship and the limited appeal of superheroes helped cut the throat of the now almost bloodless comic book. Those who make, play and love video games need only look at the past of the nearly departed comic to see the writing on the arcade wall.

The slow death of comics began in 1954, with the publication The Seduction of the Innocent, an anti-comics diatribe by child psychologist Dr. Frederick Wertham. During the "Golden Age" of comics, four-color funny books were in the hands of every kid in the nation. Among the most popular of these pulps were lurid horror and crime comics. The amoral fables featured in titles such as Tales From the Crypt and True Crime shocked Wertham. While studying criminally violent kids, he discovered that most, if not all of them, read comic books. Wertham argued that the joyous onslaught of murder and mayhem that leapt from these books was poisoning the minds of America's youth. This indictment of the comics medium appalled parents and brought the issue of violence in comics to the attention of the United States Congress. In a desperate attempt to save the medium from government intervention, publishers created The Comics Code. The group penned a set of editorial standards not unlike the Hays Code of 1930 that scrubbed American cinema clean of violent gangster tales. In the years that followed, comics became neutered, their growth stunted in such a way that half a century later, the majority of comics are still populated by spandex-clad superheroes and mired in overwrought morality.

Sound familiar? Because of violent content, video games have undergone similar scrutiny. Rather than imposing limitations, game publishers in 1994 created the Entertainment Software Ratings Board. Decades earlier, the MPAA ratings system had allowed American cinema to break free of the restrictive Hays Code and freely explore mature, adult and challenging themes. The ESRB left game publishers with the same option. And so were born Grand Theft Auto III and State of Emergency, unworthy "Mature" rated heirs to the taboo-breaking big-screen achievements of Bonnie and Clyde, The Wild Bunch and A Clockwork Orange.

With a working classification system in place it would seem that video games are off the hook, but that's not the case. The indefensible actions of loners-turned-gunmen Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold cemented further government investigation into the possibility of a connection between video game play and violence. Harris and Klebold, like most disaffected youths, enjoyed playing first-person shooters such as Quake and Doom. This unfortunate coincidence in part influenced the Federal Trade Commission to investigate the marketing of violent video games to children. Their study determined that "video-game producers are aggressively marketing violent entertainment products to children even as they label the material inappropriate for young audiences."

There has yet to emerge a modern-day, video-game-hating equivilant to Dr. Frederick Wertham. That's not to say that people haven't tried to fill his shoes. In his breathless review of Grand Theft Auto III, Aaron Curtis, former editor of the now-defunct Los Angeles Times "Tech Times" section, wrote that enjoying the title's game play was akin to "admiring the cinematography of a snuff film." Curtis had issued prior Wertham-esque rants. In a review entitled "First 'Jet Grind,' Then Juvenile Hall," the writer warns parents to keep their kids away from a grafitti-centric in-line-skating Sega title. Curtis called Jet Grind Radio "one of the most irresponsible games ever put out for a set-top console" because the tagging and gang associations portrayed in the game promoted "the mayhem that makes urban life so unpleasant."

It seems beyond the comprehension of critics that children not only crave but have a cognizant appreciation of lurid, violent and so-called antisocial materials. Expressing conflict with brute force, in the way that WWF matches, Godzilla flicks or Looney Tunes do, speaks to the physical knowledge a child has of the world. Dozens of skinned knees, noogies and (in the less progressive households) spankings have already tought these youngsters that pain is the first, most primal way that humans learn. Their media of choice overtly echoes this awareness.

The audiences of Tales From the Crypt and Grand Theft Auto III (despite the claims of their labeling) are one and the same: the adolescent. With this faze of youth often comes a fascination with violence that flies in the face of accepted concepts of maturity. Millions of teens revel in horror flicks and gothic-themed rock, genres that defy ratings restriction.

Traditionally mature subject matter appeals to the intellect as much as the gut. Kids (and many adults for that matter) reject this material as boring and dull. Add an explosion, a gunfight or a pair of breasts and now you've got something interesting. The truth is that comics and video games never really grew up. For every Eightball, there are a hundred Spawns. For every nuanced puzzle-adventure such as Ico, an army of trigger-happy Max Paynes. Despite minor creative victories, there's little maturation going on in either field. Comics and video games have only become more brazen, more clever and more technologically advanced in their youthful expression of bloodlust.

This is where the comics industry made its fatal mistake. Fueled by the wrongheaded notion that comics were now a grown-up medium, publishers abandoned the youngest kids, and focused on sating the desires of teens and adults with adolescent tastes. Family-friendly titles all but disappeared from comic shelves. Images of scantily clad demon-women and blood-soaked vigilantes dominated stores. In some shops, where aging collectors were now the primary clientele, kids weren't even allowed to browse without a parent or guardian in tow.

Anyone who reads video game press will detect a similar impulse. "Cute" is anathema to the core gamer in the same way that Pokemon and Raffi are kid stuff compared to supposedly grown-up product such as Gundam and Linkin Park. The cracking voices in discussion groups and letters columns want nothing to do with cartoon characters. They're much more interested in the realistically rendered racks of the street-fighting babes in Dead or Alive than another adventure with the never-changing Mario. A sneak preview of the latest Zelda game caused a particularly loud uproar. The game's bold new look, one that recalls the work of Chuck Jones, was immediately decried by gamers for being too "cutesy." They preferred the style of a hyper-real tech demo they'd seen months earlier that featured Link going sword-to-sword with Gannon. The pratfalling, paper-thin 2-D characters and stylized facial features represented a move in the wrong direction.

To his credit, Nintendo's lead visionary Shigeru Miyamoto has made creating games for kids his first priority. Miyamoto creates artful games such as Zelda: The Ocarina of Time and Pikmin whose appeal bridges the tastes of adults and kids in much the same way that Carl Barks' Donald Duck and Scrooge comics did. Miyamoto understands that gaming's popularity depends on a continual flow of new gamers from generation to generation. For many, Nintendo is the starting point for a lifetime of gaming. In comics, this moment of first contact is all but lost. Once ubiquitous in a child's life, comics are now an oddity, and because of this the legions of youthful comics readers have shrunk significantly. Older readers are all who remain, and these poor souls are locked in an eternal grapple with grimacing muscle-men from which only few escape. Those who do manage to cast off the chains of superheroism discover a little-known treasure trove of smart, beautiful work that represents the pinnacle of comic book achievement. Ironically, these underappreciated underground comic masters were weaned on the same comics that Wertham trashed. Current comics trailblazers Crumb, Clowes, Spiegleman, Ware and Los Bros. Hernandez all took long drinks from the musty well of horror and crime comics. The waters did not poison them, but instead influenced and informed their great works.

Video games have yet to produce a Maus or Ghostworld. In fact, if left to the fan-boys, the marvelous and vital work of Miyamoto would morph into adrenaline-packed fighters and bloody first-person shooters, leaving young gamers high and dry in much the same way comics did to their young audience. To survive, video games must continue to welcome new gamers with friendly, engrossing experiences that Mario and his cartoony comrades offer so well. Of course, the core audience's thirst for action must be sated, but respite must also be offered. As underground comics offer a safe haven for the demanding comic reader, video games must also provide a more contemplative place for the battle-weary, maturing gamer to retreat to. This will be the place where true video-game art will be found.

--Gus Mastrapa

Originally published in Neksis, Volume 1 Number 6

2002-05-12T16:37:00.000-07:00

Apologia Pro Vita Sua Voldo

Once, while pounding through a bloodshot session of Soul Calibur, I was struck with an impending pair of questions:

Who are you Voldo? How can I help?

You may be familiar with Voldo. As my friends do, you probably make fun of his peculiar physicality and unorthodox fighting style. His strange, lanky body has a tendency to confuse people. It certainly used to confuse me. At six feet tall, he stands dressed in sparse decoration, with strips of clothing that weave about his entire form and a bandage-like helmet that covers his eyes and mouth. His thin frame sways in constant movement, as if he is privy to some ancient and invisible rhythm. My friends like to poke fun while he slices about, mocking him for his inability to deliver a “normal” gesture. They laugh and carry on whether he is winning or losing, making it seem that his livelihood was designed for their amusement. Dismissive of what they cannot understand, they have been led into a jeering ridicule of what is to them a hopeless and goofy mishap of human form...

But my friends don’t just make fun of Voldo; they also make fun of me. They make fun of me for participating in his oddity, for my attachment to his character and tendency to choose him over the more traditional warriors of the Soul Calibur universe. Their words are ruthless and uncontained - “hey fancy boy, is Voldo gonna give me a kiss?” or “freak boy, stop making your freak clone roll away.” Until recently I have accepted such harassment with only mild retaliation. Helpless to understand him, I have been unable to defend him, and consequently, I’ve been unable to defend myself.

This is all about to change. Voldo has spoken and I am here to tell you what he has to say.

You see, I have been given a vision and granted a new perspective. Like the Zen Buddhists who suddenly “snap” into enlightenment, I was struck with a spontaneous and virtually instant understanding. The questions were pulsing in my mind… “Who are you Voldo? How can I help?” That night, I sat alone clicking the Dreamcast controller, perfecting my moves, searching for new possibilities. As I fell into a zone, Voldo pranced across the screen, bouncing with an Upturned Clawhook. But there I noticed something slightly different in his swagger, something I hadn’t seen before. It looked as if he were sliding towards a Lunatic Flip, but he suddenly halted. “What is this?” My enthrallment grew as I watched him spring from a Double Back Mantis Crawl and into a Glorious Spider Dig. Rising to full posture he swiveled about and in a shocking instant, stared right into my eyes…“This is my story, this is my life.”

It struck me with such an impact that I went flailing from the couch. Hitting the floor, my head was sent crashing into the console. In a flash it was all before me. The twisted childhood, the loss of brethren, the lack of companionship, the loneliness, the future…I clutched the box and began murmuring a reply. “The people will know. I shall come to them as your mouthpiece.”

So began that momentous precursor of what I am here to reveal. It’s possible you’re already familiar with some of the basic history. With a steadfast allegiance to his master, Voldo has lived the majority of his life in solitude. Born in Palermo, Italy, he was one of five brothers and lived for a short time with his family before being enlisted to the care of a forceful overseer. This was Vercci, the rich and greedy merchant who sailed the world in search of treasure and power. After amassing endless piles of wealth, Vercci had constructed an underground home as a stronghold to protect his precious findings. This was to be the place where Voldo served his master’s bidding.

With a callous abuse of Voldo’s young and innocent mind, Vercci quickly manipulated his pupil towards an arena of tireless devotion. During those vital formative years, Voldo was left without room to grow as an individual. His world was that which Vercci dictated. A good-natured and bright-eyed youth, his budding thoughts and ideas were eventually trampled under the imperious control. After his parents and brothers were killed in the Italian wars, he was left without family, and his master became the prime focus of his existence. When Vercci too passed on, Voldo heeded his lord’s last request, pledging never to leave the underground vault where he remained sealed for many years…

The psychological damage incurred by these years is really too much to mention. Try for an instant to imagine yourself trapped in complete darkness, abandoned by the world and left in utter silence. Now consider it with no family or friends above, with no hope for reuniting with loved ones or old companions. Under such conditions, almost anyone would lose the will to persevere. Yet for Voldo, the tragedy runs even deeper, for when Vercci died his power-mad rule did not die with him. He had gained a stranglehold on Voldo’s burgeoning young mind, and his wicked manipulation continued even in death. Left without another soul in the world, Voldo devoted himself to the only thing he knew – his master’s will. Thus it was that he made a grave in the darkened recess of the vault and pledged himself daily to Vercci’s command.

As days and years went by, Voldo’s connection with the outside world grew more and more distant. With no light, his eyesight gradually faded away. Lost in the silence, his neglected vocal chords eventually lost their capacity for sound. Without companionship his mind grew hazy and splintered. By many accounts, this is where he lost his grasp completely and fell into the depths of madness. Yet there was something else happening in those moments of solitude, something that is not so easy to explain.

Voldo was perfecting his art. It was during this time that he found an outlet for recapturing his voice. While the only world he knew was that of Vercci’s dominance, there was something in his soul that begged release. He couldn’t quite explain it, but this something was emerging in his self-taught martial training. Soon his battle moves became a newfound area of expression. Though the picture was not yet complete its outline began to take form. It was there in the Rat Bounce and Power Slave, and became more apparent through the Suspended Pendulum and Demon Elbow. When he glided about in the Asylum Dance it gained further clarity, deriving shape as he pushed into a Mute Low Kick.

With new excitement, Voldo forged a pair of Katar that would aid in his quest for expression. He named them “Shame” and “Blame,” and began using them in a similar manner to that in which a painter uses a brush. They allowed him additional shapes and provided a further outlet of ideas. Pushing his creative energies to the limit, he embarked on a laborious discipline of body and mind, doing so with utter devotion to uncovering a personal solidarity. For many months he struggled to centralize his feelings and ideas, at times agonizing over the pain and frustration, but always meeting the lightless day with renewed hope and desire. During this time he also constructed new clothing and accessories, items that he found to be of further help to his cause. With elaborate tapestries of pink and purple he developed the “Paris is Burning” outfit. Perhaps he could not see the colors, but he could feel them. As the crimson hue traced through the air it sung of peaceful serenity and warm magical places. Overtaken, his passions turned him towards a heady but stonehearted search for love and righteousness. Before long the months turned into years, but Voldo pressed on, sweating out his time and slowly finding a core.

Finally, after years of tireless searching, the epiphany took hold. In an overwhelming culmination, Voldo’s self-awareness was complete, and his art nearly reached perfection. Though tearful with the beauty of awareness, his ambitions quickly shifted to a new desire. Now that his expression was developed, he felt a compelling need to share. After all, what good is a voice if there is no one to hear it? Vercci was too preoccupied in death and Voldo feared dejection, but he desperately needed to find someone…anyone…everyone.

His prayers were answered when the footsteps of an intruder penetrated the darkened corridors of the underground lair. He became intoxicated with the potential communication, but curbed his anxiousness and decided it best to first listen to the intruder’s intentions. He could sense it was a woman, and by her careful movements he determined she was likely a skilled warrior. Delicately creeping through his home, she seemed to be searching for something of great importance. It was then that he heard whispers of a legendary weapon of unspeakable power, the ancient and famed Souledge. This was the weapon of his master’s most towering desire, the Holy Grail of his life quest.

Voldo could hardly contain his excitement. The opportunity unraveled before his figurative eyes; now he could deliver his message to the world while fulfilling his master’s greatest wish. Two birds with one stone. Unable to refrain himself any longer, Voldo bounded from the shadows and rushed to communicate with the stranger. Intent on being hospitable he decided to offer a greeting of absolute friendship. This was one of the last moves he had perfected, a highly complex maneuver that would involve diving through the air while spinning Shame towards the stranger’s chest. Tear-ridden, he soured into the motion with flawless beauty.

The stranger’s unfortunate reaction was one of immediate hostility. With a howl, she knocked Voldo’s arm to the side and followed through with a rocketing bash to his head. Baffled by the response, Voldo tried again, this time with the Dark Shredder, which loosely translated means “may the love of all creatures be upon thee.” Again, his action was met with ill-tempered reply. Panting in confusion Voldo continued his attempts, but was repeatedly answered in violent rejection. Before long, the stranger fled his open arms, screaming her way to the lands above.

He couldn’t understand it. How could the stranger deny him so harshly? Crushed, he immediately fell into a quiet depression. What if the world would not accept him? Was he to suffer the rest of his life in loneliness? His bruised spirit could hardly fathom the notion. Vercci was still there (at least his corpse), but how could he ever gain his master’s approval without first coming to terms with his own voice? No, he realized he could not give up. The importance of his message was much larger than his personal fears. This was a bridge that only he could cross. With a resolved sense of duty, he made a promise that despite any flaws, he must push forward.

So it was that Voldo emerged unto the world. Leaving the underground was difficult, but at this point he could not be stopped. Kneeling by Vercci’s resting place he whispered his allegiance and then began his ascent. The climb was difficult, but with courageous tenacity he soon reached the top. And there, after two decades of solitary darkness, he was reacquainted with the sun. At first he thought he would surely explode. The heat was like a nova through his body, searing into his blood vessels and boiling about pale layers of flesh like a giant blanket of flame. He retreated for a cooler spot and attempted to make peace with the lost sunshine. As his body slowly adjusted he began to rediscover a forgotten sense of tranquility. A wistful summer air played about him, soothing his upset skin with a feathery lullaby. Hovering above, a nest of Barbary partridges sung at his arrival. The hills of Italy were greeting their friend, welcoming him back from a subterranean hiatus. Inspired by the surroundings, Voldo burst across the hillside in a Full Stampede Shredder, offering his wish “I am here sweet planet, please engulf me in your benevolence.” The planet did so, and Voldo rolled about in gleeful elation, welcoming the future and all it would hold.

Of course, his happiness was brief and the future grim. After setting out in search of human contact and his master’s weapon, his stint with joy elapsed to one of tragedy. You can probably imagine what his life has been like since. Certainly, his travels have brought contact with many interesting and unusual characters, but they have all met him with fear, much of which has become violent. Their names are many - Yoshimitsu, Hwang Sung-Kyung, Mitsurugi, Rock, Maxi, Siegfried, Ivy, Sophitia, Taki, Xianghua, Cervantes- but their actions are the same. Whether it is Rock’s savage hammer or Taki’s biting Ninjatau, they have callously prodded, beaten and bashed poor Voldo into a horrid state. The examples are endless…
Recently I witnessed an especially repellent display while stumbling into a chance encounter. My friend had incarnated Hwang, who stood before me holding his long blade in a huff of confidence. Moving towards him in a message of peace, Voldo picked up the Korean warrior and carefully spun him about in a delicate Pizza Toss. As Hwang rotated on the twin Katar, the message became clear – “Hwang, you are a brother to me. Let us hug and find solace in our brotherhood.” Hwang’s response was catastrophic. After landing to the ground he quickly launched at Voldo, drawing the long blade straight across his new brother’s torso. Then, as Voldo fell wheezing to his knees, Hwang continued the motion and brought his sword slicing downwards, thrashing our hero into unconsciousness. Just before Voldo passed out, I noticed him trying to say something in his movements. Rolling on his belly, he seemed to cry out “I have failed yet again, but I will survive to try another day.”

Lacking Voldo’s spiritual fortitude, I slammed down the controller and left the room. How can we treat this man with such indignity? After all he’s suffered and all he’s endured, he is now rewarded with grotesque disavow. Well, it must stop here. I know that you are at a loss to comprehend his healing word, but if you just took a moment to look, you might see the grace in what he has to say. He is blessed with a heavenly understanding of nature, of love and beauty, but he is wrought with a fear of abandonment and needs our help to find peace of mind. Lending your support would not require an act of altruism; we could all greatly benefit from his council. This much is certain; his message can lead us to new levels of cosmic understanding. Consider if you will, the following translations of certain moves:

The Bloody Drill: “Like the morning dew, our lives are a pattern of soft beauty, their only requirement is devotion.”

The Fool’s Inquest: “When man loves, he does so completely. When he hates, he does so haphazardly.”

The Asylum Breakout: “Don’t be afraid to touch, it is our most direct link to understanding.”

The Rat Slaughter Kick: “Please do not pick that beautiful flower. I think that you are beautiful too, but does that warrant a giant hand descending from the heavens and uprooting you?”

The Guillotine Scissors: “Shoes are good enough, but they can only protect our feet. Love protects our entire mind, body and soul.”

It is certain, the written word does little justice to the core of Voldo’s message. I implore you then, pay a closer mind to his art. Next time you find yourself on the stage of history, try leaving your fear and ignorance behind. When you see Voldo approaching, do not attack him, but give your attention. You may be surprised by what you discover. Remember, sometimes a little faith can go a long way. Before you hack, slash and bash your way about, think of all the sacrifices he’s made and the noble root of his desires. When you slap him around and knock him to the ground, make yourself listen closely to his breathy sorrow. Put yourself in his shoes. Voldo has made a pledge to the promise of a brighter tomorrow. His unprecedented durability is matched only by his will for righteousness. I very much doubt that any of us could have survived the life he’s endured, let alone greet each day with a strength to make the world a better place.

Before I set out to write this piece, I suffered through another terrible incident. Taki was gleefully gliding around, shooting through the field and relentlessly stabbing Voldo to the ground. A harsh giggle came from the player to my right “hey, it looks like Voldo is less of a woman than Taki is.” My blood boiled in anger. I wanted to strangle her, bat her cute little head to the floor and then finish her off with a searing strike from Blame’s pointed tip. Hands clenched I tried to regain my composure, but fumes kept billowing from my ears. Looking at the screen, she was at it again, jabbing, slashing, chopping, stomping on poor Voldo until he was staggering in shock. I nearly sent my foot through the TV - and I would have, if it wasn’t for what Voldo did next.

Barely able to stand and badly wounded, he rose up and began a move. Curling back on pointed feet, his arms opened and in a slow motion moment he was sent spinning into the Whirling Windmill. There in an instant I saw him say:

“Quell your anger my friend, for if I lose you, I will have no one. Do not allow yourself the displeasure of hatred, for it is the opposite of that which we have been striving for. Continue your noble efforts, and by Vercci’s will, our hopes will blossom into a magnificent reality. Please, can you hear me? Are you listening?”

That’s when Taki’s blade sent him crashing to the ground. Beside me I could barely catch my friend cheering - “Wham-o! Voldo gets his *****-ass broke again! That’s what you get for playing such a fruity bitchcake.” – but I could care less. I had floated away with Voldo’s longing, lost in a moment of resolution. His words were about me in a deep resonance, compelling and true. Since then, my testament has been forthcoming…

I can hear you Voldo, and more importantly, I am listening. By your example I have come to discover the wonderfulness in us all. You are a constant reminder that life is filled with a grand and meaningful design. And you’ve always been there for me. I remember the time when I was blue and you showed me your Cheesestick Hellbelly Flop. It sent me laughing for days! My troubles were forgotten, but I started to feel guilty for giggling at the display. Do you remember what you did then? With a Bat Taste to Mantis Crawl combo you said:

“Don’t feel bad about laughing at the fallen man. Actually you are not laughing at the man at all, but the banana upon which he has slipped. Our flaws are like bananas, silly and hilarious, but richly important.”

Thank you Voldo. I lack your gift for communication, but I hope that somewhere in the space between my words you can sense the impact you’ve had. With hope, I look forward to the day when the people of this world unify and elevate you to a deserved and glorious state of fulfillment. Until then, I shall continue to spread your message of truth and love, doing so with confidence that eventually your goodness shall prevail.

-- Bryan Younce

2002-04-22T06:33:00.000-07:00

The Smell That Surrounds You

Proving that hope and quarters spring eternal at the local arcade, Editor and resident cynic Mitch Borgeson brings us this interview with coin-op impresario Ryan Cravens. A tireless booster of all things arcade, Ryan is just the man to put a halt to Akumono's predictions of impending arcade doom and the lament he would surely write.

The sense of smell is a powerful mnemonic, one that can evoke palpable senses of place and history and transport you back, willing or not, to memories past. To this day, certain smells nearly incapacitate me with the associations and distant scenes that they carry. Perfume, Vicks Vapo-Rub, the oily smell of a baseball glove -- each chock-full of subconscious suggestion and the capacity to resuscitate distant scenarios I had thought long forgotten. For good or ill, smell brings with it a precious clarity, an olfactory enlightenment that clears up the synapses and gets them firing on all cylinders. And there’s nothing like a dose of old-fashioned Arcade Smell to crank up my remembrance engine to the mental red-line...

At best unpleasant, at worst revolting, the Arcade Smell is something that has haunted me on and off for twenty years. It is a strange amalgam of adolescent desperation and sweat, circuit boards choking and overheating on unchecked dust, and the metallic funk of a million quarters lost forever in the depths of a dirty Centipede machine. It’s filthy floors and spilled soda pop. Sweat-stained Metallica T-shirts and cigarette smoke. All of these jumbled together into a heady mixture impossible to erase from the dim corners of the unconscious.

And however repellant this odor may be in reality and to the uninitiated, its connotations in the realm of memory are, to me, legendary and beautiful. But, as so many childhood odors tend to do, the Arcade Smell was hibernating peacefully in a black crevice of my mind, best left undisturbed.

This sleeping, malodorous beast was grumpily awakened on an innocent trip to the Pak-Mann arcade, and it still has me in its clutches. You see, the specter of the Arcade Smell haunts only certain gaming establishments and thumbs its nose at all others. You will never stumble upon the Arcade Smell in the antiseptic, franchised environs of a GameWorks or Dave and Busters. Those wood-paneled, well-scrubbed yuppie havens, by their very nature, are anathema to the beast. No, the Arcade Smell seeks its harbor in the garish and gleefully foul environs of the neighborhood arcade. It revels in the sticky floors and the hazy light and the disenfranchisement of the independent corner arcade. This is its home, its perpetually neon-lit domicile.

Pak-Mann, sandwiched in between fast-food franchises and thrift stores, is the quintessential cave for the beast to inhabit. Dark and dusty, this arcade is a powerful experiment in atavism. Its patrons, predominantly male, slink from machine to machine, each greasy and grimy from the innumerable hands that have controlled it before. The games are a jumbled mess, with no discernible order. Most are falling apart, some completely broken, all with signs that advise the player that if it eats your quarter, well, tough shit. No games seem to have been manufactured after 1996, with two or three exceptions (Dance Dance Revolution and a LAN section being Pak-Mann’s primary concessions to the Now). The change man sits behind two inches of Plexiglas, disinterestedly taking your money and dispensing quarters. Real quarters! No fancy token crap or rechargeable “game cards” for this place. The pinballs are mis-aligned, games lack joysticks, burned-out monitors gaze at you morbidly, and everywhere is the Smell. It permeates the place, down to the very core.

The Smell, devilishly hard to ignore, worked its magic. Suddenly, it’s circa-1985 all over again, and for all its disgusting implications, it’s impossible not to love or remember. I was at sea in a mnemonic reverie, every lost fragment of arcade-going memory rushing back to the fore. Reagan-era remembrances of arcades long bankrupt sped through my mind. Where had they all gone? Why was this arcade, on the outer fringes of Los Angeles and so hard to find, the only place to evoke these thoughts and feelings in years? Is this the last sanctuary for the Arcade Smell? Is this, the independently owned and operated arcade, simply a doomed relic of the Information Age? Can the beast survive the corporate onslaught? Is the traditional arcade, that home to disenchanted teens everywhere, soon to be eulogized by those who had forgotten it was still around? Are arcades, as we have always known them, dead?

Unable to answer these questions simply, I started to examine the evidence before me. From my observations, the independent, neighborhood arcade such as Pak-Mann seems now an apparition of its former self in the face of increased competition from consoles, the Internet, and any other number of things that vie for kids’ entertainment dollars. Increasingly rare, they exist on the periphery where rent is cheap and expectations are low. Even in a city the size of Los Angeles, they are few and are weakly grasping for new sources of revenue. Many arcades seem to rely on the popularity of Dance Dance Revolution and its kind to attract players, forgetting the uprights and pinballs. Others, like Pac-Man, have made concessions to the PC era, installing LAN gaming sections for the Counter-Strike breed to play. Though LAN based gaming does add to the Arcade Smell (quite heavily, at that) it is an enormous departure from tradition and something to ponder. In contrast, mega-arcades and “fun centers” like Dave and Busters appear to be expanding aggressively and prospering. Why the shift? Are independent arcades irrelevant to all but the hard-core? Have consoles won the war between home and arcade? Have independent arcades, by being what they are, reduced their appeal to a minute and odorous audience? Are games like Dance Dance Revolution and BeatMania arcades’ only hope to compete with the consoles by providing some unattainable-at-home experience? Did the exit of gaming giant Bally/Midway spell out “Game Over” in huge flashing letters?

Not wanting to be a gaming Cassandra, I sought out one who could illuminate the inner workings of the arcade business and hopefully refute my apocalyptic prognostications. This search led me to an old friend who has been intimately involved in coin-op for as long as I’ve known him. As he is now managing his family’s arcade, his combination of a fresh perspective and familial knowledge of the inner-workings of the industry is hopefully more than enough to prove me wrong. In an email exchange, we did our best to hash out the problems that arcades face and their hopes for redemption.

Mitch Borgeson: As a person with a deep knowledge of the coin-op/arcade business,
could you give us a description of the general state of the industry and, briefly, why it is in such sorry shape?

Ryan Cravens: I have been involved in the arcade industry since age 13 and my family has been involved in the overall coin-op industry for over 35 years, that is, before the introduction of the video game. The arcade business does have it share of ups and downs and unfortunately we are in a pretty big downturn right now. The way that the arcade business has usually operated in the past, in the event of an economic upswing like we saw with techs and dotcoms a couple of years ago, the arcade industry suffers. The rationale behind that theory is, Mom and Dad have a little more money lying around and they can buy little Johnnie and Suzy the new Panasonic Rectangle or whatever console is hot at the time. However, if there is a slump in the economy, Mom and Dad don't have 400 bucks lying around to buy a console, controller and one game so they give the kids twenty bucks to go down the street and play games for a couple of hours. Unfortunately, in the recent recession we didn't see that type of reaction for a couple of reasons. There were three great consoles introduced to the North American Market
which took the wind out of the arcade sales. Secondly, there has not been enough product to come out to drive the gamers into the arcades.

MB: Have the major corporate chains and franchises (Dave and Busters, Gameworks, etc.) been affected by this downturn?

RC: The corporate chains are a completely different animal in comparison to the independent FEC (Family Entertainment Center). They have been hurt, reporting losses, but both of the aforementioned brands are still expanding. There are a couple of other brands that are doing some very aggressive expanding. The very well known Chuck E Cheese and another brand that is starting to makes some noise is Mr. Gatti's, which is coming close to opening its 200th location. With competition like this, it is hard to be an indie FEC owner.

MB: How have consoles and PC's changed the landscape of the arcade business? Now that console and PC graphics are equal to, if not better, than arcades, (a radical reversal from the old days when you went to the arcade to see the latest and greatest) how can arcades compete? Would this explain the popularity of Konami's Bemani and other games that simply cannot be replicated in the home (Police911, MoCap Boxing, et al)?

RC: I have been an arcade rat my whole life, that is how I was raised and it is sad to see that the coin-op industry is so far behind the home market. There is a reason for this. Companies like Atari (RIP), Midway (RIP) and Sega would come out with their own platform to create a series of games, then they would dump that platform after 2 or 3 titles and create a new platform. Not too cost effective and they would pass the expense down
the chain and it got way too expensive for the arcades. And the platforms that they would have to create to compete with the Cubes, Xboxes and PS2's of the world would be crazy because only one company would use it. So the manufacturers have said let's give them a unique experience, dancing games and full body simulation. The one thing that people tend to forget though, as much as I love video games, they are not the backbone of the arcade, the redemption side is the workhorse. Redemption is something you can never
replicate at home and kids love getting tickets and trading them in for prizes and guess what, families spend more money than teenagers.

MB: On that note, what would you say is the core demographic of the independent arcade? Young, disaffected teenagers? Are arcades doomed to the reputation of being the kind of place that young punks and hooligans call home? It's always been like that to an extent, but it seems to have gotten worse.

RC: Again, I believe my goal core is the family because they have much more money to spend and families don't mix well with the lovely group that you just so colorfully described. My focus is to bring in more families, but my location is dominated by the male teens, and I would have to say a big reason for that is the nature of the games. Most of the games are aggressive games that feature violence. The big mystery is the Dance games. I do not mean to hurt any feelings but I am surprised that so many guys play these games. I guess every guy secretly wants to be Dancing Queen only 17.

MB: In my recent arcade going experience, the only new games that arcades have had are the Bemani (Dance Dance Revolution, Guitar Freaks, etc.) games and others of that variety with a noticeable absence of new, more traditional arcade games (fighters, etc.). What's happened?

RC: There are only a handful of manufacturers left and the big fighting franchise (Street Fighter) will only make a few appearances because Capcom has focused on the home market because they make more money there.

MB: Thinking back to the old days, I remember when anybody could play a video game. Pac Man, Pong - these were playable by any Mom, Dad, or kid. Do you think that the intimidatingly complex nature of today's games has hurt the overall appeal of arcade gaming for those without the patience to learn? Or is this just a natural progression?

RC: You hit on a huge problem and that is why the coin-op industry as a whole has shifted to the bar market. The 3 major bar manufacturers -- Incredible Technologies, uWink and Merit -- all make games that are very easy to play (golf and touchscreen games). However, those types of games do not translate well to the younger kids. Let's face it, the younger kids are much more skilled than we were at that age.

MB: How, if at all, has the rise of emulation (notably, MAME) affected the arcade? Now that pretty much any game you can think of is playable on the PC, what is the incentive to go to the arcade?

RC: A lot of the people that use emulation software are teenagers, and even though they use those programs, they still come to arcades to get away from home. That is the one thing that arcades will always have going for them, kids can use it as an escape from home. And yes, the emulators have hurt us but there is a little bit lost in translation from joystick to keyboard arrows on Pac-Man. People still love to see that we have Ms. Pac Man in the original cabinet. One more thing that can never be duplicated on the computer is Pinball, and even though there is only one Pinball company (Stern) left, the games still get played.

MB: Where are the American developers and manufacturers? Did the exit of Bally spell the end for American coin-op? Will there be a rebirth? Why do the Japanese seem to
have such a stranglehold on the industry?

RC: platforms killed the American giant Midway/Atari/Bally. That is a big reason that the largest American manufacturer left is Incredible Technologies and the only game that they have been able to sell is the golf title, everything else that they try to bring to market fails miserably. The Japanese may have a stranglehold but the rebirth will come from Korea not the U.S. Korea is in the position that the Japanese were in 20 years ago. They are coming out with cheap games that earn pretty well. With companies like Andimiro and Sinko America leading the way, you will see the changing of the guard in 5-10 years.

MB: What are your thoughts on the recently announced Nintendo/Sega/Namco Tri-Force?

RC: The Nintendo Tri-Force project can do nothing but help the coin-op industry. Nintendo will be the biggest company in the industry and their name alone will help
spur sales. Even if the system flops, people will still come in and play it a few times.

MB: Finally, what, in your opinion, can be done to lift the coin-op and arcade industry out of its current doldrums? What, as someone who is now managing his first arcade, are the avenues available for you to pursue? With your fresh perspective, what are the simplest things that can be done to rescue this ailing beast? Can arcades ever regain the prominence they once held in our collective consciousness? Or are they doomed to a spot at the bottom of Pop Culture's dustbin until nostalgia kicks in at their absence? I sure as hell hope not.

RC: To make the arcades come back, I think people have to refocus on who is the core player. I am not saying abandon the teen angst, but remember there are other people out there that are willing to spend money. Make it fun for everyone by having redemption for the kids and tournaments on the DDRsand the fighting games for the teens. Do some promotions with the classics and pinballs. Try and include the family and the ex-arcadians and the current players. The arcade is like a bar for teenagers, they go there to interact with people. If they wanted to, they could play the game at home. But who wants to get blisters on their palms by playing with themselves all night long? Go out and mingle. I think that this is just a downturn, not the end. Tri-Force will help regenerate interest in the arcades, and, ultimately, it will be the responsibility of the owners to keep up the interest.

And so, the Arcade Smell may just live to see another day, to infect the mind of another generation with its pungent force of memory. The beast has been challenged many times; by the post-Atari backlash, by puritanical naysayers in the Mortal Kombat era, by PC’s and ever more powerful consoles, by financial instability -- but it has always emerged from its cave intact, if not unscathed. The Smell, the beast, and by extension, the arcade, has always managed to Hang On, in the face of great odds. Perhaps its enduring potency will, inevitably and necessarily, be diluted by families and minors driving Daddy’s SUV and the passage of time, but it will always be there, lurking, hiding, lying in wait for the zealous. Once we, the susceptible, discover it and recognize it, we can only await its infrequent reemergence as a fleeting, redolent sensation and heed its clarion call. The call of the arcade, of the disenfranchised, of the quarter-plunkers. In a world such as this, there will always be a place for the beast’s disciples, unwashed and grimy hands raised in tribute to a wavering, but still breathing ideal. We, the faithful will see to it that the arcade and its Smell will never die. Or so we hope….

Ryan Cravens manages “Quarters,” an independent arcade in Kirkland, Washington.

2002-03-26T02:24:00.000-08:00

Game Over, Man

State of Emergency and Alien Syndrome by way of Alternate Dimensions

Mark would have loved State of Emergency. In an alternate universe it's still 1987. I can see his stooped posture wrapped in a faded denim jacket. The garish light of a game cabinet casts a bloody hue on his dirty blonde curls. Over the arcade clamor I can hear his high-pitched cackle. The game's Jello Biafra-impersonating emcee goads my friend to "smash the corporation!" Mark gleefully complies, happily urging Sparky to smash glass storefronts with a dismembered looter's head. I shuffle towards him in my faded Converse and slap a quarter onto the control panel. He turns towards me with a smirk on his face. "What do you want, homo?" I kick one of his feet out from under him, giving a corporate death squad the half-second they needed to jump Mark's cholo avatar and issue him a nasty beat-down. "I got next," I say.

State of Emergency would have fit in well next to Smash TV and Alien Syndrome, our favorite arcade titles of the late '80s. Those games were fast paced and simple, but most importantly, visceral -- like a baseball bat pounding flesh.

I remember Mark's 1970 Mustang jerking to a halt, sliding for a moment on the gravel strewn asphalt and kicking up a cloud of dust. Every lunch hour we'd pack into his convertible and take a white-knuckle ride to the local food court where we'd gorge on pizza, cheap tacos and Chick-Fil-A. On the way back we'd arm ourselves with supersized cups of ice as ammunition against other students. That day, our cups were near empty, we'd already run the gauntlet and crossed to the wrong side of the tracks that run along Dixie Highway to neighborhood where our beleaguered high school dwelled. Something in the road had caught Mark's eye. He jumped out without opening the car door and strode to toward the trunk. He disappeared behind the lid and fumbled through the mess stowed in the back. Megadeth crunched from the ride's tinny speakers. The Florida heat caught up to us now that we weren't in motion. We tapped the bottoms of our Styrofoam cups, looking for icy sustenance. Mark produced a well-worn baseball bat from the depths of his trunk. His fingers curled around the wood as he made his way to the misshapen lump in the middle of the road. "Ew, I think it's a fish," Dave said from my left. "It's a big one too," Chris added from the right. I rose from my position on the bitch hump to get a better look just as Mark's first swing found its target. "Die, motherfucker!" Mark screamed. The fish's head exploded into meaty, red mist.

Back on Earth(1) I'm launching grenades into storefronts, enjoying the moment of anticipation before the building explodes into a fireball, when I think of Mark and that bizarro-arcade where State of Emergency takes the shape and form the cosmos intended. My first instinct had been to play State of Emergency's Revolution mode, which follows a highly repetitive and narratively thin story line. The half-assed story, which unfolds in text, rather than cut scenes held my attention for about half a second. The tiresome chores didn't fare well either. Kaos mode was a bit more fun. This portion of the game handles much like Crazy Taxi. The longer I last, the more hectic things become. Mobs swell to unmanageable throngs. Civilians become harder to avoid. Pretty much every character on screen has their crosshairs on me. I'm oblivious to them. All that matters are my grenades and their lovely arc into the front doors of Corporation owned businesses. The gut-level pleasure I'm feeling conjures memories of high school. From this angle the game's flaws mean little. It's about bloodlust. Rage, anger and frustration expressed through senseless violence. Another explosion rocks Chinatown. For a beautiful moment, body parts rain down around me. Then the crowd closes in, beating the last bits of life out me. Still, I feel oddly sated. My hand instinctually reaches for my pants pocket and another quarter.

Mark was the first friend I made in high-school. He was a metalhead, the kind that hung out in the smoking section just off campus. I was a D&D-playing, Piers Anthony-reading dork, the kind that liked the library. I met Mark in freshman English. He and I became friends after learning of our mutual love for Mad Max. We'd spend the entire class period scribbling drawings of post-apocalyptic muscle cars outfitted with spikes and cow-catchers on the back of our vocab sheets.

On some weekends I'd meet Mark at the Pompano Outlet Mall, a miserable, half-empty shopping center built across the street from a landfill. The mall was vast and worthless except for its movie theater (the first in South Florida to be THX certified), arcade and record store. Mark and I would rifle through cassettes, looking for thrash record to hold us off until Metallica finished ...And Justice For All. We'd check out horror flicks at the theater. Mark and I tried to sneak into The Evil Dead 2, but got busted, so we saw Creepshow 2 instead. "Thanks for the ride, lady" -- the mantra of the flick's grotesque hit-and-run victim immediately became Mark's catch phrase. The rest of the time we'd kill in the arcade.

Alien Syndrome, Sega's take on the James Cameron bug-hunt Aliens, was our favorite. We'd sink pocketfuls of quarters into the game. The thrill of tearing through otherworldly flesh with bullets, or searing the goo with flame-throwers was unending. Side by side we'd rid room after room of bugs, then plow through the malformed boss creatures as if they were butter. During battle Mark would emulate Bill Paxton's Private Hudson character, spouting bile as he mowed the creatures down. "You want some of this?" he'd ask rhetorically before letting loose a burst of fire. "C'mon cocksuckers. Come get some." Mark reveled in clichéd death patter, and laced it with as much profanity as he could muster.

My mom once overheard Mark's vile language when coming to pick me up from the arcade. She stood behind us as we played. "Lick my balls," Mark screamed as we finished off a mob of monsters. "Are you about ready to go," my Mom asked from behind us. Mark's face immediately bloomed crimson. We turned around, letting the rest of the game go down the drain. I introduced Mark, who politely offered his hand and told my Mom that it was nice to meet her. My mom didn't chide Mark for his language. She shook his hand. We said good-bye. "He seems like a nice boy," my mom later commented on the drive home.

Mark really was a nice boy. I still believe this, even though he didn't look nice or sound nice. History doesn't show him to be all that nice either. Sometime during the summer of our senior year Mark put a bullet in his head. Nice boys don't kill themselves, right?

The last time I saw Mark was at an outdoor concert. Mark emerged from the sweaty, mullet-heavy crowd, panting and tired. Metallica's equipment was being cleared from the stage. Mark had just lived through his first mosh pit. His expression was one of supreme satisfaction. His eyes peered from behind his brow, like Private Pyle in Full Metal Jacket. By the time the first fall school bell rang Mark was dead and buried.

As far as I know, Mark never hurt anyone but himself. Nevertheless, my mind can't help but draw a line between my departed friend and the dozens of young loners who lash out violently against their classmates for families. As I sit here, wreaking havoc on digitized city streets with a virtual shotgun, I think about media violence and blame. I didn't know Erik Harris or Dylan Klebold, but I knew Mark. There was something in him that needed out. I can't say who put it there. In my heart I know this; Mark's fascination with morbid metal, horror flicks, and video games were a symptom, not the source of his woes.

In an alternate universe it's 2002 and I'm playing State of Emergency on my PS2. My phone rings. It's Mark calling from Pompano Beach. I can hear Lars's kick-drums from "One" playing in the background. I tell Mark that I'm playing State of Emergency. "I've heard of that one," Mark admits, sipping the foam of the top of freshly opened Bud. "The wife says we shouldn't buy it," he pauses and chuckles. "It's too violent for the kids."

-- Gus Mastrapa

2001-08-07T01:45:00.000-07:00

Jill Played Atari

Jill played Atari. Sometimes I’d come over to find her sitting Indian-style, dead-center on the Persian rug, deep into a marathon game of Pitfall. A can of cheap beer would be at one knee, a smoking ashtray at the other. Once she showed me how to beat Raiders of the Lost Ark; a game I’d always remembered as infuriating. Jill could methodically walk through the doorless rooms and tsetse fly infested swamps with an ease that betrayed hours of childhood gameplay. “You have to whip the walls right here,” she’d say as if the act were a simple fact of life.

The fact that Jill had grown up on Atari and still loved playing the dusty, old console wasn’t the reason why she was so fascinating to me. Neither were here fixations with Godzilla, Pee Wee Herman, punk rock or cheep beer. All those guy-centric interests were just offshoots of what made Jill so cool.

Barely surviving a tumultuous adolescence in middle-America, Jill had struck out young, forgoing college for a bill-paying job. She’d grown into a tough but caring ’90s babe who hid a feminine body under skater clothes, Nordic blonde hair under a multi-color dye job, and a fair complexion under a salon tan. There were always bottles of Corona in Jill’s fridge, tequila in her cabinet and a place on the couch for a drunken pal to crash.

Jill was also married, and though she and her husband were on the outs, this fact spelled an obvious doom that I cheerfully ignored. My time with her was thrilling, gut-wrenching and very, very brief. We cruised the tables of toy shows, stayed up late drinking Busch, and made sloppy, ineffectual love to Bjork and PJ Harvey while sitting house in her boss’ suburban pre-fab.

Money was scarce then. My job barely paid the rent, and I was feeling restless, so I bit the bullet and parted with anything “non-essential.” My comics and the Star Wars action figures I’d had since childhood stayed, and pretty much everything else went. The Jack and Sally dolls went for a pretty penny at the toy con. I dumped my old Gibson and amps at a guitar shop, and let go of a ton of random action figures for a decent load of cash.

The money quickly ran out and my Playstation had to go. I’d bought the console early. It was the model that you could trick into playing import titles by simply swapping discs. It never overheated and never had to be flipped on its back to work right. I sold it and a stack of games for $100 bucks.

Luckily, Jill’s new roommate had the console as well, so often, I’d sit down in front of her TV, nudge the Atari over and play Crash Bandicoot while she dyed her hair. Once, I felt her behind me, watching me collecting mangos, or whatever Crash likes to eat, and sensed something strange. “Is every thing cool?” I asked, barely looking over my shoulder to her. “Yeah,” she nodded uncomfortably before retreating to her bedroom.

I’d just moved into my apartment, my first single, when Jill broke me the news. She’d spent the entire evening drinking to work up the courage. I’d spent the entire evening unpacking, cleaning and arranging my new pad, with the idea that the night would be dedicated to christening the new love nest.

“I just don’t feel that way anymore,” she said through her tears. I placidly agreed, barely putting up a fight.

I didn’t take the rejection easily. Every mention of Jill stung, every run-in with her in a bar was a trial. I couldn’t keep the pain from bubbling out through my face, and it must have killed my friends to see it.

One night, Jill’s roommate and her boyfriend knocked on my apartment door. “We brought the Playstation and a six-pack,” he said. “I got this new game, Twisted Metal, it’s really cool.”

Neither of them mentioned Jill once. We jacked the console into the TV and fired it up, and for an hour or so, all of the regrets that had been torturing me fell away.

--Gus Mastrapa

Also published in 1-Up #3 with illustrations by Souther Salazar