Showing posts with label perspective. Show all posts
Showing posts with label perspective. Show all posts

Friday, April 15, 2016

News & Views
4/9/16-4/15/16

News & Views collects the week’s best gaming writing. Check out below for stories about the environmental storytelling of corpses, when is the right time to show off your eSport strategy, how Final Fantasy XV has a good message about toxic masculinity, and how Spelunky makes perfect maps. Apologies for not having comments this week- today is a whirlwind!

And of course please check out the brand new episode of The Impact Factor podcast that was posted today! You can subscribe to the podcast on iTunes, or if you prefer other methods, check out our SoundCloud. We’re on YouTube too!

Spotlight
Clive Thompson, The New York Times Magazine

Worth Reading
Natalie Rachel, FemHype

Ben Kuchera, Polygon

Harry Mackin, Paste

Patrick Klepek, Kotaku

Richard Procter, Polygon

David Graham, Redbull

Owen S. Good, Polygon

Bruno Dias, Giantbomb

Katherine Cross, Gamasutra

Patrick Klepek, Kotaku

Tuesday, March 8, 2016

Sticker Shock: No Man’s Sky, Value Assessments & the Need for Analog
Article

Abstract: Late last week developer Hello Games announced the release price for No Man’s Sky: $60. The news was met with resistance as many found the price to be too steep. This hesitation arose due to a history of price standardization as well as No Man’s Sky’s indie lineage. The way video games are priced, and the culture surrounding if a game is priced correctly, has huge room for improvement. A game’s cost shouldn’t be boiled down to only two factors: the type of team that made it and the infamous ‘ratio’ of dollars paid / hours played. Pricing should be analog, not binary. With proper justification game devs should be able to set their own price, free from the negative cognitive weight alternate price points elicit. Thankfully, we’re beginning to see that shift.

What would you pay to be a galactic pioneer? What is a fair price of traveling to 1:1 sized planetary bodies, or engaging in dramatic space battles against alien pirates? No Man’s Sky’s promises are lofty, but even if the game cannot fully live up to expectations Hello Games’ newest endeavor promises to be one of the most exciting titles this year. The release date announcement last week reignited a widespread fervor for No Man’s Sky. But that news was overshadowed by one key piece of information: No Man’s Sky would cost $60 at launch. Last week proved that you can give people an entire universe and they’ll still balk at the sight of a $60 price tag. Why did this happen?

Video game pricing, and if a game has earned its price tag, is a hot topic in the gaming. But it didn’t always used to be this way. By the time I was old enough to consider buying games for myself, game cost had been largely standardized. Aside from the rare exception or two, new games cost $50. That’s for a SNES game, an N64 game, a PS1 game. There were far less discussions about if a game had earned its $50 price tag simply because that’s what all games cost.  As the industry moved forward, however, several factors began to uproot the idea of a fixed cost for new games. The biggest among them was the rise of digital distribution. This brought with it not only budget-priced games (usually ~$15), but also the now standard digital sale events, like seasonal Steam sales or PSN Flash sales. No longer were games just $50 (now $60), they were also $15, or steeply discounted. A new pricing hierarchy emerged alongside the notion of a game’s monetary worth. It created a dogma of sorts—a set of expectations for what you would get at either of the discrete prices. $60 games were AAA experiences from a large team of individuals, replete with top-of-the-line graphics, a variety of game modes, huge worlds or bombastic campaigns. $15 games were indies: small teams of people making tight experiences with a limited scope but filled with new ideas. Paying a certain price for a game now was inherently associated with the type of experience should you expect, as well as the perceived amount of content within the game.
 
Yes, even Crash 2 had standard pricing.
No Man’s Sky comes from a long lineage of indie game development. The core members of Hello Games, the studio behind No Man’s Sky, is just 4 people. Hello Games have only released two previous titles, Joe Danger and Joe Danger 2: The Movie, both $15 downloadable digital games. Indie games. Even after the studio expanded to handle the gargantuan No Man’s Sky, the team is still comprised of only 15 individuals. Therefore, as ambitious as No Man’s Sky is, it was still an indie game. And indie games simply don’t cost $60.
 
Don't let Joe Danger set your pricing expectations for No Man's Sky.
A lot of this comes down to the discussion surrounding monetary value assessments in modern gaming. Like I alluded to earlier, the rise of a new pricing tier was the flash point for discussions surrounding a game’s worth. Generally speaking, the value assessment comes down to two things. First, whether the game is indie or AAA, as I described above. Second is one simple math equation: dollars paid divided by hours played. It’s an aspect of video game culture I absolutely despise. A game is only ‘worthy’ of its price tag if it fulfills some set dollar to hour ratio of the player. For example, I’ve observed that many individuals want a ratio of around $2/hour. That is, a $60 game should provide at least 30 hours of gameplay. I’ve seen others touting the $1/hour figure, demanding 60+ hours for their purchase to be worthwhile. Though less strict for indie and/or $15 games, this calculation is still widely used. I saw dozens of threads on how Gone Home was not worth $15 because you could finish the game in 2 hours. I have noticed that, to a certain extent, this ratio trumps the overall quality of hours played. 30 good hours in a game are generally valued higher than 3 exceptional hours.

Let’s look at this in the context of No Man’s Sky. What would you expect to pay? First and foremost, No Man’s Sky in an indie game, so according to dogma it cannot be $60. But the game is huge, with promises of limitless galactic travel, realistically sized planets, trading, gunplay, resource collection, upgrading equipment. It’s hard to imagine the game offers fewer than 30 hours of gameplay to those of whom No Man’s Sky appeals. Further, Sony has poured an undisclosed amount of money into Hello Games to complete No Man’s Sky. How does that affect cost? If we go by this binary pricing structure, however,  Hello Games would be hard-pressed to ask for more than $15-20. But No Man’s Sky doesn’t fit comfortably into the widely accepted rubric for game pricing. So where does that leave us?

From everything I've seen and heard, No Man's Sky promises
to be absolutely massive.
I would argue there should not be a set pricing structure. There is no one right answer to game cost. Perhaps most important from my perspective, monetary value assessments vary dramatically from person to person. I am a person who feels far more satisfied in my financial investment in a game when my experience is phenomenal, rather than just good, regardless of the numbers of hours played. Firewatch was a better purchase than Batman: Arkham Knight, even though ‘the  ratio’ is roughly $7/hour for the former and $1.80/hour for the latter. I did not walk out of a movie theater wishing that the exceptional It Follows cost me less because it was an hour shorter than Avengers: Age of Ultron. In that way, game pricing should not be dependent on just perceived classification (AAA or indie) or ‘the ratio.’ Pricing should be reflective of the gamers’ anticipated experience, developer value assessments, developer financial needs, and the broader ecosystem of gaming. It all comes down to rhetoric. If you justify the right cost for your game, you should be able to charge what you feel is fair. Unfortunately, with current pricing dogma comes with baggage.
 
Firewatch was more than worth its sticker price.
Games that stray away from conventional pricing have been shackled by negative connotations of the decision. It goes in both directions. If an indie charges ‘too much’ for their title, the developers are greedy and just trying to get rich quick. It can even work against the developer to charge less for their game, believe it or not. Back in the 1990s, games that cost less than $50 were ‘bargain.’ This could mean a number of different things, but usually consisted of being made from an unknown team, being derivative of another popular IP, or being a game that shipped with considerable problems. When a new game launched for $30, you knew it was something to avoid. The industry has largely moved past creating and releasing these kinds of games, but the cognitive and connotative weight still exists and still acts as a serious impediment to pricing flexibility. Take the latest Ratchet and Clank, for example. It’s releasing in a little over a month, a reboot of one of the most popular IPs on the PlayStation 2, from a AAA-sized team with a long pedigree of amazing games. But Insomniac decided to set the game’s price at $40 and the internet began questioning the decision. Did this mean that Insomniac and Sony are not confident in the game? Will it be a bargain experience? Obviously none of us can say if that will be the case, but the fact remains that games that exist outside of traditional pricing structures are viewed with reservation.
 
Just because Ratchet & Clank costs $40 doesn't mean
it will be a 'bargain' game.
But why can’t games exist in a much fuller spectrum of pricing options? Why can’t pricing be analog rather than discrete? Nowhere is it set in stone what a game should cost. Nor have we strictly defined what $1, $5, $20, $60 or even $100 games should be. It’s clear that video game pricing structure hasn’t caught up with changes to game development. Indie studios are no longer just three gals working out of their basement to make a short, mechanically simplistic game. Indies dominate the game landscape, with titles big and small, scope limited or broad, gameplay hours many or few, with 2 employees to 2 dozen. Similarly, AAAs are no longer the be-all end-all gaming experiences. AAAs are often content dense, but have become iterative rather than innovative. Further, video game enthusiasts are gradually moving away from physical disks as the digital revolution continues forward. As manufacturing and retail reliance diminish, one should expect the pricing dogma to dramatically shift. And what an exciting future that could be. What will be the new face of a $40 game?
 
Not the be-all end-all.
An important thing to remember for all video game enthusiasts is to not set yourself up for disappointment when it comes to a game’s monetary worth. It’s difficult, but I would urge you to separate yourself from the ingrained connotations of a game’s inherent value given its price. If a new game you’re excited for is asking for $30 instead of $20, work to decipher why. Be introspective about determining your monetary value assessment. It’s not wrong to agree with the $2/hour ratio, but search for your specific evidence that supports that conclusion. Value your anticipated experience rather than focusing on how a company may be attempting to swindle you. From personal experience, at least, removing the shackles of standardized pricing has been liberating. I’m free to discern my feelings about a game without having to worry if my hard-earned dollar went far enough. It’s a fantastic feeling.

Even as I write this, it’s clear that we’re starting to see gaming’s pricing ecosystem beginning to shift. It was just three years ago or so that we saw the rise of the $20 indie game. Games like Firewatch and Gone Home argued that what they bring to the table is worth more than the standard $15. They argued so well, in fact, that $20 is essentially the new standard price. Steam has allowed for the rise of $5-10 indies like Undertale. February had the $25 SUPERHOT, January the $40 The Witness. Last year there was the $30 SOMA. Exploring pricing options is an essential part of the industry’s continued growth, and I’m fascinated to see where we will end up.
 
Welcome to planet Impact Factor Gamma-1. Or something like that.

Is No Man’s Sky worth $60? There isn’t one right answer. A jury of your peers shouldn’t decide your answer, though. It’s up to you. Like any good scientist you should make observations, perform a self-assessment, synthesize your findings, and draw a conclusion based upon them. You might just discover liberation too. And, if you’re lucky, maybe even a solar system to call your own.

Friday, February 19, 2016


News & Views
2/13/16-2/19/16

It’s finally here! I can’t believe I got to spend a couple evenings this week with Street Fighter V! The lab week has been long, but all the rest has been pretty darn great. I hope you all have a great weekend. Onto News & Views!

News & Views compiles the week’s best video game stories, writing, opinions, editorials, and everything in between! Check out the links below for great writing about the eerie reality of commitment issues in Catherine, dealing with the death of a family member through Monkey Ball 2, and how Xbox Live Arcade almost never happened!

And of course please check out the brand new episode of The Impact Factor podcast that was posted today! You can subscribe to the podcast on iTunes, or if you prefer other methods, check out our SoundCloud. We’re on YouTube too!

Spotlight
Phillip Kollar, Polygon

Worth Reading
Michelle Ehrhardt, Kill Screen

Kris Graft, Gamasutra

Patrick Klepek, Kotaku

Matthew Kim, VICE

Alyssa Kai, Medium

With Comments
Ed Smith, alphr
Smith’s piece is a great one, and one both a) I never expected to see and b) we need far more of about the industry. The way games toy with history, cultural and sociological trends is an interesting one. At times, it feels like video game developers are less aware of how a game exists as part of the larger conversation about certain issues. Smith writes about how in GTA: San Andreas the rewriting of the LA riots is problematic. It distorts the truth, which could potentially damage someone’s understanding of one of the most shameful events in recent US history.

Richard Li, Gamespot
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the tutorial in Street Fighter V is not at all helpful. Capcom has been doing a great job making guides and other resources for the community, but more tips are never a bad thing! Li runs down nine things to think about while playing SFV that aren’t as simple as what buttons to press when.

Alex Osborn, IGN
I don’t want to imagine a present, or future, of gaming without the Xbox Live Arcade. I write without hesitation that it indelibly shaped the gaming landscape. It changed what we think of as games released for general consumption, and it certainly contributed to the growth and prominence of the indie game scene. I love reading stories like this, and I think you will too.

Thomas Bidaux, Gamasutra
We talk a lot about Kickstarter on The Impact Factor podcast. Is it a net good, despite the many horror stories that come out of the service? Thankfully, we have Thomas Bidaux to answer that question. Bidaux runs down the entirety of 2015 Kickstarter games: the successes, the failures, and trends for the future. Essential reading for those interested in where game development is now, and where it is going.

Tuesday, February 2, 2016

Binge Player Syndrome and How It’s Hard to Go Back (Or Stop)
Perspective

Abstract: I suffer from the self-coined “Binge Player Syndrome” (BPS). I feel the urge to ‘complete’ new games, learn their language, and do so as swiftly as possible. BPS affords some benefits, like the uncanny ability to see games to their end point and the psychological reassurance of getting tasks accomplished. The downside, however, is that BPS makes it exceedingly hard to return to games left unfinished while simultaneously making it difficult to stop playing until I’ve attained ‘mastery.’ What kind of gamer are you?

Hello everyone. I have a confession to make. I suffer from “Binge Player Syndrome” (BPS). I’m not quite sure how long I’ve been affected by BPS, but it’s certainly taken a stronger hold of me since entering graduate school. But what is BPS? Am I sure I didn’t just invent the term? (I totally did.) How does it affect me on a day-to-day basis and as a gamer? Fear not, you won’t be in the dark much longer. Let me explain.

I’ve been affected by BPS for as long as I can remember playing games, but it’s certainly intensified over the past six years or so. Let me describe a few of the symptoms. It starts with an initial hesitation to begin playing a new game. This stems from a fear, or maybe not fear exactly, but a dread for what looms in my immediate future. I know that once I start a game, I’ve invested a part of myself into it. I am there to fully consume the game. I have made a commitment. The commitment can be a bit fluid, but what it ultimately comes down to is this: I will not stop playing the game until I feel like I have ‘completed’ it. Completion can mean different things for different games, but when I dedifferentiate the specifics into a general list, I get these:

·       Finish the single player mode, if the game has one.
·       Gain a near mastery* of the gameplay systems
·       Understand what the game does well and where it fails
·       At minimum, spend adequate** time in all features / modes offered
·       [For recent games] Complete an acceptable*** level of in-game achievements (trophies, Steam achievements, etc)
·       Above all, play enough to form an educated opinion

*Able to perform all tasks asked of me by the game with decent-to-excellent execution
**This can range dramatically, usually dependent on how essential I feel the mode is to the game’s sum experience.
***This point is moot for games without in-game achievements, like those on Nintendo platforms or mobile. I’ll generally look at a list, see which seem fun and/or easy to accomplish, and plan to get those ones done.

The other critical element of my BPS is, as you might have guessed, achieving this ‘completion’ in as fast a time as possible. The ‘why’ to my rapid timetable is multifaceted. Without going into too much detail, it exists as a combination of my desire to have the time to experience as many interesting games as possible, to stay on top of the constant deluge of new releases, and to not remain stagnant in how I spend my limited free time. When I start up a new game I go all in and all at once. I tend to binge a new game start to finish, uninterrupted by other games if at all possible (though I have been known to juggle as many as three titles at the same time). It’s like a good burger or plate of sushi. As much as I may try to draw out my excellent experience as long as possible, it’s usually a quite short affair. I consume. Fast.

One month into 2016 and I already have a meaty list of played games.
Further, by looking so far into the future of my time with new games, often before I even truly start, I can get caught up in the work I have ahead of me. I’ll therefore approach it like all other work I do: by buckling down and doing research. First and foremost, I need to learn the language of the game. I need to understand what the game is trying to communicate to me and the way in which it is doing so. The process is often fast as I try to approach the problem from multiple angles: experimenting with the game’s systems, scouring the in-game resources, and seeking online write-ups or guides to serve as a foundation for my endeavors. I’m gathering evidence, making observations, and (as I play) synthesizing them to not only gain mastery but also form various theses on my experience. For every new game I attempt to transform myself into the player the game wants me to be. In my experience, this gives the game its best chance to show off its strengths. By the end of my time with a game, I want to be able to speak its language.

I just started PAD. There's so much language to learn.
So what does BPS do for me? What is it good for? Above all, it makes me pretty adept at finishing games. One of the most shocking gaming statistics I’ve come across in the past few years is how few people finish the games they start. It is remarkable and, if I’m being honest, a bit sad. Prior to this last generation of consoles, it was hard to quantitate completion percentages. You could survey people, but those can easily be impacted by confounders (who wants to admit they haven’t beaten The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, for example). Here is where the power of trophies / achievements come in. Most games grant an achievement for completing the single player content. For PlayStation at least, you can then look at the total percent of players that have earned the trophy for completion (measured out of the total number of individuals who have booted up the game). They are all so low. Here are just a few examples from PlayStation trophies. Only 17% of people have beaten Titan Souls. Only 22% of people have beaten Ni No Kuni. Only 10% of people have beaten Transistor. Even an easy, linear, 6.5 hour game like The Order: 1886 has only 43% of players reach the end. And the list goes on. By finishing a game, I place myself in a minority of individuals who have actually seen the experience to its conclusion.  

Transistor is amazing people! I know more
than 10% of you can beat it.
BPS is also quite good at making me feel accomplished (as superficial as it might be). I set out in the beginning of my time with a new game with a huge to-do list filled with unchecked boxes. Playing the game lets me check box after box. The credit roll lets me know that I’ve done something, that I’ve put in the work to see the game all the way through. There’s something psychologically reassuring about checking things off a list, about making gradual linear progress towards a fixed endpoint. This feeling isn’t why I play games, but it certainly enhances my time with them.

There isn’t all upside to my syndrome, of course. With good comes bad. And the worst is how BPS affects my ability to go back to old titles. Once a game has slipped out of the bubble of fervor, it is usually lost forever. Life can intervene, a new title I’ve eagerly awaited can be released before I finish, I can get bored, etc. There’s no end to the factors that can take me out of the experience. As I keep moving forward, distance rapidly grows between myself and the game I’ve been meaning to complete. And coming back is rough. It’s like being dropped in a foreign country, unclear of where to go, how to go, and how to communicate with the locals. I suspect this is a feeling shared by anyone trying to get back into a game they’ve put down for a while, but my exasperation feels so much more intense because I’m keenly aware of what I lost. I used to know the language. I used to know my way around. Further, my BPS mandates a certain level of mastery for my enjoyment. It feels awful hopping back into a game, deep into it’s content, totally unaware of what to do. So much so I’d rather just leave it be. It’s hard to go back.

Though I have left many games unfinished, a few stick out in my mind as particularly painful. One that still haunts me is Baten Kaitos on Gamecube. I loved that game. The immersive world, the card-based battle system, the cast of characters, the stunning visuals. I couldn’t tear myself away from the game. Until, for some reason , I just stopped playing. At the final dungeon. Yep. By the time my guilt for leaving Baten Kaitos incomplete finally reached its boiling point, I had totally forgotten what I was doing and how to play, stranded in story’s toughest area. I attempted on a several occasions to pick it back up to finish, but I never got my foothold. Baten Kaitos remains unfinished.

One day I'll finish you Baten Kaitos. Probably. Maybe. The chances are slim.
A more recent pair of examples are From Software’s Dark Souls II and Bloodborne. Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve finished both games. I’ve also completed all in-game trophies, earning myself the platinum. What I refer to here is their respective DLCs. As much as I love both games, I consumed them like I consume all games: all at once and as completely as possible. I specced my ideal characters, beat all bosses optional or not, maxed out my upgrades, etc. But for both games, I was done within three weeks. Thus, when the DLC for each of the two games was released upwards of 6+ months later, I had lost my mastery of the Souls language. The DLC’s barrier to entry was extraordinarily high, because it meant relearning what I had binged so long ago. Again, while I’m sure I would pick it back up again, the feeling of having to do so is unpleasant (for me). Once I’ve crossed a game off my list, it generally stays crossed. Bloodborne’s The Old Hunters DLC was a huge inspiration for this piece. I own it and I’m so excited to play, but my BPS is putting up a huge wall blocking my re-entry.

Even though I am incredibly excited to play The Older Hunters DLC,
I haven't been able to get past my mental barrier to re-entry.
A final game I had originally slated to write about here was Ni No Kuni. I recently said on TIF podcast that Ni No Kuni is easily the best classic JRPG from the PS3/Xbox360 console generation. It’s a game I bought at launch in February 2013, and played for 54 hours in 2.5 weeks. It’s also a game that, until earlier this month, I had not beaten. For one reason or another, I stopped playing just before the final dungeon. Despite how much I loved the game, and desperately wanted to finish it, I couldn’t get back into it. I expected to write in this article how shameful I feel that it still sits incomplete in my gargantuan backlog. But no. Three years later I’ve beaten it. And it’s all thanks to my fiancée. Justine began playing the game in the New Year and in the process of doing so retaught me the language of the game. She helped reteach me the ins-and-outs of Familiar training and battles. She refamiliarized me with character motivations and the world’s story. Justine got me to the place where I felt comfortable jumping back in, which allowed me to get past the limitations of BPS and finally see the credits roll.

Stuck in Ding Dong Dell no longer! It felt sublime to finish Ni No Kuni.
Hand-in-hand with difficulty going back to an old game, it’s also incredibly hard to stop playing the titles I’m currently working on. I played Bloodborne non-stop for nearly three weeks. From early morning to the late hours of the night, I didn’t feel satisfied until I had ‘completed’ the game. In Bloodborne’s case, that meant beating the story, all dungeons, all bosses, and obtaining the platinum trophy. The list of things I wanted to accomplish in-game was stress inducing at times, and a clear unwanted symptom of BPS. Fallout 4 is another title I binged until I had finished. I played Fallout 4 and only Fallout 4 until I had done all named side quests and seen the game’s ending from all factions’ perspective. And I did just that. The downside, however, is now that I’ve officially ‘completed’ the game I feel no urge to go back. Fallout 4 is huge and diverse and interesting, with plenty more for me still to do, but because I’ve ‘completed’ it I imagine I will not be going back any time soon. BPS can also affect games without clear-cut endpoints, too. Take Spelunky and Nuclear Throne for example. It was hard for me to stop playing these games, even after 100+ and 60+ hours respectively. While the main reason was that I was still enjoying these titles, it also lingered in the back of my mind that I hadn’t mastered them yet. A small part of the reason I kept playing was because I wanted to gain a more nuanced understanding of their language; I wanted to be an expert. It is also the reason I figure I’ll never stop playing Spelunky or Nuclear Throne. There’s always more vocabulary to learn.

So what am I left with? I own up to having Binge Player Syndrome, for starters. It’s important for me to admit, and important for my audience to know. It colors the way I play, think, and speak about games. It comes with strengths and it comes with limitations. But hey, it’s me. What kind of player are you?

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Filled With Determination
Review
Undertale, Toby Fox (Mac)

Abstract: Undertale is easily one of the best games I’ve played all year. Toby Fox’s old-school inspired 2D role-playing game simultaneously exceeds and subverts expectations, be they narrative, game design, or otherwise. Undertale’s emphasis on the lingering impact of violence manifests itself in a gripping story and an innovative battle system: you can talk your way out of every encounter. Undertale is a peerless experience and serves as a perfect example of the power of auteurship in games. It’s one you shouldn’t miss.

I was in a hostile world, but not one without purpose. The echoes of damp caverns, the crunching of freshly matted snow under my feet, the bubbling and whizzing of a molten research lab. I saw and heard a lot throughout my journey, during which my resolve was tested and morality questioned. Undertale’s sweeping old-school JRPG introduction let me know I was in for a tremendous odyssey. What I didn’t know was how profoundly affecting my quest would be.

Undertale had the unfortunate weight of high expectations. I was a little late to the party. The game’s release was met with a small suite of glowing reviews from some of the voices in gaming I respect the most. They all pretty much said the same thing: Undertale is a game that subverts expectations, is exceedingly charming, and offers an unexpected commentary on the nature of violence in games. So, yeah, the bar had been set pretty high. Not only that, but Undertale is also a game that draws inspiration from perhaps my favorite genre: mid 90’s 2D Japanese role-playing games (JRPG). To live up to the hype, then, Undertale had to be an exceptional RPG on top of having an excellent story and a metanarrative on gaming as whole. I’m so happy to write here that Undertale both met and exceeded expectations.

Before I get into the meat of the review, I wanted to include a quick disclaimer: Undertale is a game that’s exceedingly difficult to meaningfully talk about without revealing the game’s many excellent twists, turns, secrets, and narrative surprises. Undertale is one of those games you should know as little as possible before going in. I’m glad I did. For that reason, I paid extra attention to keeping this review spoiler free. So I apologize if parts come off a bit vague.
 
Worry not! I keep things spoiler free. Undertale is best when you know
little to nothing about the game's plot.
Undertale opens with your young protagonist falling down a gaping hole in the ground, stranding the young human child in the world of monsters. Long ago there was a terrible war between humans and monsters that tore apart a once united world. Using the power of their souls, humans killed the monsters by the thousands, handily winning the war. As a result, monsters were banished to the underground, imprisoned below the surface by a seemingly impenetrable magic barrier. The monsters rebuilt their life in the dark, tainted by a lingering hopelessness and antagonism towards their human conquerors. As a human, the player finds themselves tasked with navigating this alien world in an attempt to make your way back to the surface. Very early in your journey you learn that there is an unexpected complexity to the monsters: they’re not just bloodthirsty creatures, but rather a group of diverse, sometimes funny sometimes friendly sometimes scary, individuals. Undertale’s roughly eight hour play through will take you throughout the underground, meeting friend and foe alike, as you try to decipher exactly what’s going on and how you can find your way home.

Your time with Undertale is largely defined by one impactful choice: how do I fight against the challenges with which I’m faced? Is there a way I can achieve my goals without resorting to violence? This is Undertale’s most significant design decision: it is an RPG you can beat without killing anything. You can kill, absolutely. But for the most part, the game encourages you not to. Everything and everyone you meet has a purpose, a personality, and feels like it exists outside of your interaction with it. Unlike so many other RPGs before it, where killing is the norm and your enemies are either maniacally evil or an undefined opposing force, Undertale is different. The game asks the player to think about what violence means and the effects it can have on those on the receiving end. The typical RPG hero is a genocidal maniac, with a kill count in the hundreds or thousands by the end of the game. Undertale provided an incredible feeling that, for the first time, I had agency in how I approached a hostile world. Because I (mostly) didn’t kill, I actually felt heroic. Every decision I made had weight to it—nothing was thoughtless.
 
Yeah, I'm a hero. No biggie.
This non-violence manifests itself in a thoughtful reimaging of combat encounters. Undertale redefines the very idea of a ‘battle’. All enemies you face, be they random encounter or boss, can be approached in one of two ways. You can ‘FIGHT,’ attacking your foe with your weapon and killing them. Damage is determined by an on-screen timing mini-game, where you need to press a button when a fast moving line is at the center of the screen. The other option? ‘ACT.’ ACT gives the player the ability to talk to their enemies—ask them about their life, laugh at their jokes, applaud them, pick on them, etc. Say the right thing the right number of times and the monster will be pacified, allowing you to ‘SPARE’ them. While you’re working to either kill or subdue the monster, they attack the player. Their attacks take form as a bullet hell mini-game. You control a heart-shaped cursor within a small box on the screen, which you’ll need to move around to dodge enemy projectiles. The system isn’t explained in any great detail, but it’s something I got the hang of pretty fast. Defeating enemies is all about memorizing their pattern of projectiles, knowing how and when you can move your heart around to avoid being damaged. The bullet-hell system is clever and, for the most part, fun.
 
Guide your heart through Undertale. Will you fight or talk?
I particularly enjoyed the boss fights, during which new & novel elements were added to your standard dodging. For example, in one boss fight, instead of freely moving, your cursor is given a weight and sent to the bottom of the box. You’re not dodging in the same way anymore, as this new mini-game tests a different skill set (it felt more like a platformer). All major boss battles dramatically change up the combat experience and were fun to figure out. All the former praise aside, though, the bullet-hell system was my least favorite element of the game. Dodging can be extremely difficult—to the point where I heard several game critics gave up because it was simply not worth the trouble. I consider myself fairly skilled at bullet-hell mechanics, and even I had a few frustrating moments on my way to finishing the game. Anyone who knows me knows I love a difficult gaming experience, but it has to fit within the core design of the game. The terrifyingly tough bullet-hell sections in Undertale worked counter to what I felt was the purpose of the game: to immerse you in this fascinating world and tell you a phenomenal story. Undertale still spectacularly succeeds in it’s goals, but a slightly toned down bullet-hell system would have been a boon to the experience.
 
I hope you like dodging. It can get pretty tough.
Speaking of story and world, Undertale is an unmitigated success. The writing in particular is one of the game’s clear strong points. Dialogue is witty and sharp. Characters felt well defined, whether your interaction with them was brief or prolonged. The world is diverse but cohesive. Undertale’s story can also be appreciated on many levels—it’s a game where the truth, the full depth of the narrative, is obscured by complexity. Undertale asks the player to dive deep and pay close attention to your endeavors, as even brief interactions can shed light onto what’s truly happening in the world. Unfortunately (for some of you out there), you cannot get every single piece of information in one play though. This didn’t bother me at all, however. My time with the world was memorable and affecting. It told me a story I hadn’t quite experienced before and answered a lot of the big questions I had at the start of the game. Lingering questions remained, but I was happy to let those stay in the ether. My Undertale was compact, concise. Excellent. Maybe one day I’ll go back for the rest. To avoid getting into any spoilers here, I’ll stay vague. But Undertale is a game that tries (and succeeds) at saying something meaningful about violence, trust, loss and love. It also offers a great metanarrative about how we play games, what it means to kill in a RPG, and player expectations of core gameplay mechanics. Perhaps most impressively, Undertale accomplishes all of this while still being a game that’s actually fun to play.
 
I enjoyed my conversations with everyone in Undertale. Yes, even the
shopkeepers. The writing is so good.
Undertale isn’t content to just subvert narrative expectations, though. It messes with the very vehicle of games too. Old standbys like an experience system and save points are tweaked in new ways. Undertale also has a few moments in which it breaks the fourth wall, commenting on the experience of playing a game. The game was also designed to remember when you quit: characters in-game will sometimes change based upon how & when you exit out of Undertale. Certain actions cannot be undone, to the point where playing a certain way can permanently change the world in all future play throughs, regardless if you play differently later. Undertale also messes with its own established rules. There’s one boss fight early in the game, for example, that seems impossible to complete without resorting to violence, which goes against what the game has been trying to get across to the player. Figuring everything out, and seeing how Undertale constantly tries to make you think about the nature of games, is fascinating.

When looking at the games space as a whole, Undertale has easily been one of the most impactful games of the year. It’s a game that’s spawned so many great discussions about game design, narrative, and more. Undertale has people thinking and critiquing games on a deep level. It is an accomplishment that should not go unacknowledged. Even as I wrote this review, huge topics darted around my mind. Like the dissonance between killing and narrative in Undertale, how the game balanced childlike wonderment with tough as nails bullet-hell & what that’s trying to say, the meaning of full plot revelations being locked behind doing things the game explicitly tells you not to do, or how Undertale has an accessible maturity.

Finally, critical analysis aside, Undertale is a game that was a joy to experience. I felt a warmth inside while playing. For brief moments I felt transported back to my childhood, sitting three maybe four feet from a small CRT TV playing Tales of Destiny or Chrono Trigger. Undertale is also so, so funny. I laughed out loud more than a few times while playing. Undertale is genuine, sweet, and hilarious. It also has the best soundtrack of the year. Seriously, go listen to it. It’s a game that I didn’t want to end, like when you wake up to a cold morning and don’t want to get out of bed.
 
Not much more to say. Undertale is amazing.
Undertale blew me away. It simultaneously exceeded and subverted expectations. It’s at once funny, tragic, engaging, complex, frustrating and rewarding. Undertale is a perfect synthesis of smart game design with a story worth telling. Undertale is fantastic. Go play it.

Undertale
5/5