The Impact Factor Ep. 63: Pokemon GO Is A No Go
Podcast
Welcome to the 63rd episode of The Impact Factor! The Impact Factor is what happens when two scientists, and two best friends, get together to talk about video games. Hosts Alex Samocha [biomedical scientist] and Charles Fliss [social scientist] sit down every week to discuss the week in gaming! Listen in for the news, views, and games that made the biggest impact!

Please send your suggestions and feedback to: impactfactorpodcast@gmail.com

In this episode Alex and Fliss talk about Pokemon GO, Overwatch, Nintendo, Evolve, Valve, Chex Quest, the best games of 2016 so far, The Last Guardian, Gamescom, EVO, Furi, The Purge and much more!

Subscribe to us on iTunes

YouTube page

For articles and reviews from Alex, check out: www.theimpactfactor.blogspot.com
For a blog about Japan, pop culture & more from Fliss, check out:

www.flissofthenorthstar.blogspot.com

Follow Alex @alexsamocha on Twitter. twitch.tv/megalodonphd
Follow Fliss @thecfliss on Twitter. twitch.tv/flissofthenorthstar

Intro song:

You Kill My Brother by Go! Go! Go! Micro Invasion, East Jakarta Chiptunes Compilations. Freemusic Archive. (Attribution Noncommercial Share-Alike License)
Transitions:
News & Views and Perspectives transitions from victorcenusa, Freesound.org (Creative Commons 0 License)
Experimental Methods transition from Sentuniman, Freesound.org (Attribution Noncommercial License)

Dark Tendrils

Review

That Dragon, Cancer; Numinous Games (Mac)

Abstract: That Dragon, Cancer by Numinous games is one of 2016’s most powerful experiences. The personal narrative of a family dealing with their son’s terminal cancer is not one you often see in games. That Dragon, Cancer takes you through vignettes of the human experience, from the depths of sadness to the unquantifiable small moments of joy. The striking art design, clever symbolic representation of the abstract, and archival nature of That Dragon Cancer are exceptional. Unfortunately, uneven pacing and a less-than-ideal control scheme hampered some enjoy of the game, often breaking my immersion in its incredible world. In the end, however, That Dragon, Cancer is absolutely a game worth playing and one that still resonates with me weeks after completion.

That Dragon, Cancer is brave. It’s a game that tackles one of the most difficult subjects I can think of: the death of your child. It takes narrative conventions and retools them to fit the unconventional structure of the story being told. It takes gameplay conventions and fuses them, hybridizes them, to form an experience that comfortably exists in a niche of its own making. That Dragon, Cancer is an emotion-filled diary of the highs, lows, and existential crises of a family dealing with one of the most pervasive diseases known to man. Despite high expectations, That Dragon, Cancer still wowed.

Everyone knows the story of the struggling indie game dev team. It’s a small group of individuals trying to cut through the noise of a crowded games space to get their voice heard, and their creative vision into the hands of the players. Numinous Games, the developer behind That Dragon, Cancer was struggling with more than financials or press or being the next big name in independent development. They were struggling with love, loss, and cancer. I came into my time with That Dragon, Cancer knowing more about the personal life of the game’s developers than I do most titles. A piece produced by Radiolab gave me an introduction to the Green family, Ryan and Amy, and their son Joel who, at the age of 1, was diagnosed with a terminal cancer. An atypical teratoid rhabdoid tumor in his brain. With this mindset, I came into That Dragon, Cancer thinking I knew what to expect. But there was a whole lot in the game that was unexpected.

That Dragon, Cancer is a first- and third-person light adventure game, with elements of familiar genres like adventure or walking-simulator. The game takes you through the earliest days of Joel’s diagnosis up to his eventual death at the age of five. You’re taken through vignettes of the Green’s time with Joel, abstracted and made emblematic through the artistic power of games. In each scene you’re told something new about Joel’s life, or about the thoughts and struggles of his parents who are trying to stay afloat in the tumultuous waters of their terrible situation. In one scene, you’re taken to a park where you can interact with a time-frozen Joel as his swings, slides, or rocks on a horse. Another takes you to the hospital where you must walk through a treatment ended party for another unseen child, knowing full well Joel’s treatment will only end once he has passed. And yet another where you’re taken to an enormous cathedral, replete will filigree and pipe organs, as Joel moves onto another life. That Dragon, Cancer is filled with profound sadness. A kind of sadness that kicks you while you’re down. That Dragon, Cancer is also filled with profound love. Not only is the game itself a love letter to Joel, but also through numerous interactions you can see just how much burden these parents bear for their children. You don’t have to have experienced what the Greens went through to be moved. The life snapshot narrative of That Dragon, Cancer is deeply affecting.

 

Following this family's journey is deeply affecting.

The game’s developers go to great length to personalize, and humanize, your abstract experience of playing the game. Husband and wife, and the game’s creators, Ryan and Amy voice themselves throughout. Much of the game’s audio comes from family recordings. The archival nature of the Green family is astounding. It made me uncomfortable, in the best way, to hear Amy’s tear filled pleas recorded from a prayer event for her son. Or her exasperated voicemail after learning Joel’s last round of chemotherapy was ineffective. When not real-world recordings, Amy and Ryan have recorded audio that reflected how they felt as they went through this process. One moment that stuck with me in particular is when the two get in a huge fight about maintaining hope for Joel’s eventual recovery. Ryan, exhausted by the struggle and continual reminder that his son’s cancer is terminal, is drowning in sorrow. But Amy will not let him grieve a son he hasn’t lost yet. The Green family was clearly still affected by their experiences while making the game, and it comes through in every facet.

What it's like to be lost.

Playing That Dragon, Cancer reminded my of the power of video games as an artistic medium. Numinous Games takes full advantage of the medium to share this experience with players. Interactivity is at the heart of games and is central to your experience in That Dragon, Cancer. Walking through hallways, opening letters, pushing Joel on a swing, feeding him pancakes. All bolster the narrative rather than detract. That Dragon, Cancer also does an excellent job at creating symbolic representations of complex, and abstract, concepts. For example, balls of dark tendrils represent Joel’s cancer and are present in nearly every scene. Sometimes in the background, sometimes in the fore, the dark tendrils are a reminder of the ever-present nature of Joel’s disease in the family’s life as well as a great artistic interpretation of the physical tumor itself. Another poignant symbolic moment was when the Green family is told that Joel’s care is switching from curative to palliative (i.e. making his end of life as pleasant as possible). You’re in Amy’s perspective for this scene, in a quiet room with doctors sharing the terrible news. Suddenly storm clouds form in the room and your world shrinks. Water quickly fills the room as the storm rages, Amy now transported onto a small sailboat rocked by crashing waves and lighting. You can circle the giant-like doctors as they sit still, cold and hollowed by the devastating news that had to share. That Dragon, Cancer is brilliant in its smallest moments and in its ability to combine art, narrative, and interactability to create an experience only possible in games.

 

The cancer is always there. Encroaching further and further into their life.

Intentional or not, however, That Dragon, Cancer does suffer from some pronounced pacing problems. Some of the game’s moment linger longer than they should, outstaying the concise sentiment they portray. The sequence of events also leaves something to be desired. Life clearly doesn’t fit neatly into conventional narrative structuring, I get that, but the way you move through the narrative felt notably uneven. It was hard for me to focus in on one, or even one set of, emotions as I played. This emotional confusion broke my immersion several times throughout That Dragon, Cancer. Pacing issues led to an increased gamification of my experience. I noticed myself pushing to reach the end of a certain sections as quickly as I could, rather than letting them flow naturally, because I needed the game to progress. These gripes are minor, sure, but did detract from my sum experience with the game.

The gameplay itself in That Dragon, Cancer is functional. It gets the job done. The most powerful moments of gameplay were those when I forgot I was playing. You click to move from one part of a scene to the next, sweeping the player camera from one location to the next. There were moments where the click-to-move control scheme failed, however. And unfortunately those moments also break immersion. Perhaps I’m more accustomed to the kinds of stories like the one depicted in That Dragon, Cancer being found in more traditional ‘walking-simulator’ games. Games in which the player has full control over the player character, camera, etc. Regardless, I found That Dragon, Cancer’s controls wonky at times. That Dragon, Cancer places you in some beautiful and expansive first-person environments but never looses its control of player moment. Having to click each and every time I wanted to move slowed down my exploration and highlighted the extreme linear nature of the game. It also led to many awkward moments where I would click and not move, or click and move to the wrong location. Control issues made it feel, at times, like I was just being shown the story rather than what I truly love: when I feel like I’m discovering a story and interacting with it.

 

It would have been great to have a less awkward movement option
at my disposal. The game's world is fantastic.

That Dragon, Cancer consistently finds ways to surprise the player with new type of gameplay, however. Each vignette brings a new element to the table, whether it is a mini-game or light puzzle solving. These micro gameplay experiences range in quality, but I appreciate how much thought went into their inclusion. I found myself smiling from ear to ear when Ryan’s bedtime story about Joel the dragon warrior turned into a 2D platforming game. I felt dread when I was tasked with controlling a balloon-holding baby Joel as he was forced to navigate a maze of dark tendrils—knowing full well that no matter how proficient I was at dodging, the tendrils would pop my balloons and Joel would fall. Other games were less successful, however. A constellation-based mini game had poorly communicated goals and a kart racing section, while cute, controlled so poorly it was something I just wanted over as quickly as possible. Still, That Dragon, Cancer offers a multifaceted gameplay experience that complements its abstract and multilayered narrative, and ultimately it comes together as one cohesive package.

 

Not all mini-games work as well as they should.

One last minor element I wanted to specially commend is the game’s tone. It’s astounding. Sharing a story about the death of your child, cancer, religion, and family strife could have gone in any number of different directions. I was worried that That Dragon, Cancer would work too hard to make me sad, to play at my heartstrings. I was also worried that the religious background of Ryan and Amy would override other ways of interpreting Joel’s experiences. I’m happy to write that That Dragon, Cancer perfectly nails a mature, thoughtful tone. The game is respectful, sad but not exploitative, open but not voyeuristic, discrete but not vague, hopeful but not saccharine, artistic but also grounded. That Dragon, Cancer is human. That Dragon, Cancer is great.

 

My heart goes out to the Green family. Rest in peace, Joel.

That Dragon, Cancer continues to astound me with just how much the Green family felt comfortable sharing with the world. I said it once but I’ll say it again: That Dragon, Cancer is remarkable. As a tribute to their son, the game succeeded. As a narrative experience, the game succeeded. And as a game, That Dragon, Cancer succeeded. I feel privileged to have gotten to play That Dragon, Cancer. It’s not perfect. But neither is life. Try to find the time to play this one.

That Dragon, Cancer

4/5

TIF Plays: Week of 3/7-3/11
Gameplay

Welcome to the The Impact Factor's last week of gameplay! Check out below to links of all my gameplay. Be sure to catch me live on Twitch (MegalodonPhD). I stream every Tuesday at 5:30pm PST and Thursday at 6:30pm PST. Plus some special Friday streams, too! You can do me a favor by subscribing to The Impact Factor's YouTube channel, but hey, don't let me tell you what to do! 

To keep up to date with everything The Impact Factor, and me, follow me on Twitter: @alexsamocha

See you all next week!

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.

The Impact Factor Ep. 35: Gaming Resolutions for 2016!
Podcast

Welcome to the 35th episode of The Impact Factor! The Impact Factor is what happens when two scientists, and two best friends, get together to talk about video games. Hosts Alex Samocha [biomedical scientist] and Charles Fliss [social scientist] sit down every week to discuss the week in gaming! Listen in for the news, views, and games that made the biggest impact!

Please send your suggestions and feedback to: impactfactorpodcast@gmail.com

In this episode Alex and Fliss talk about Valve, Steam, Holiday Sales, AGDQ, Tomb Raider, Final Fantasy, fashion, New Years resolutions, Nuclear Throne, Sportsfriends, Jackbox, Star Wars & more!

AGDQ Schedule

Subscribe to us on iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/the-impact-factor/id993404882?mt=2

 
For articles and reviews from Alex, check out: www.theimpactfactor.blogspot.com
For a blog about Japan, pop culture & more from Fliss, check out:

www.flissofthenorthstar.blogspot.com

YouTube page: www.youtube.com/channel/UC_zpRq6h1O7d2MlMYWhNNjw 

Follow Alex @alexsamocha on Twitter. twitch.tv/megalodonphd
Follow Fliss @thecfliss on Twitter. twitch.tv/flissofthenorthstar

Intro song:

You Kill My Brother by Go! Go! Go! Micro Invasion, East Jakarta Chiptunes Compilations. Freemusic Archive. (Attribution Noncommercial Share-Alike License)
freemusicarchive.org/music/Indonesi…s_Compilation/
Transitions:
News & Views and Perspectives transitions from victorcenusa, Freesound.org (Creative Commons 0 License)
freesound.org/people/victorcenusa/sounds/148785/
freesound.org/people/victorcenusa/sounds/148784/
Experimental Methods transition from Sentuniman, Freesound.org (Attribution Noncommercial License)
freesound.org/people/Setuniman/sounds/143994/

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