Why I love: Dark Souls

The tower looms in the distance. Your destination. You raise your rookie sword and shield and venture across the battlements that lay ahead, venturing from the safety of the bonfire you had just recently been so happy to discover. As you rise the ghostly figure of a fellow warrior sits beside you, another runs past, no more than an outline. A memory. The knowledge that you are not alone spurs you on. Your rusty armour clanks as you step into the light, attacks come quickly from both sides, you scrape through and press on. Fireballs reign down on a narrow bridge, more enemies await should you rush to the end. Grisly skeletons with wooden shields, but daggers that pack a punch. In a brief moment of respite you replenish some health from your finite supply and press on. Eventually you reach the tower, the boulder trap on the way up takes away most of your remaining health but still you survive. Up the steps an ominous white doorway lies ahead. You steel yourself, dwindled supplies and a reckless abandon. You enter. Death doesn't take long. The giant Taurus Demon makes short work of you.

You died.

You awaken at the bonfire again. The same but different. Your collected souls lie with your corpse, your health replenished. You peer out of the same doorway, onto the same battlement. Let’s try that again.

And so there comes a time when that castle, that cunningly designed labyrinth of death and surprise, becomes your domain. You neatly waltz across the bridge dispatching enemies with precision. You instinctively dodge an oncoming fireball, remembering the enemies on the roof. With careful timing (you must always be careful) you fight your way back to the stairs. At the last second you remember the boulder trap and dive to safety. With a wry grin you approach the fog-gate once more, this time with health. This time with a plan.

When the Tauraus falls he's gone for good. This is your victory, savour it. The way across the broken bridge lies open, you pause and look around. Below great forests carpet the landscape, in the distance a sprawling cathedral. Atop the distant cliff face a walled city looms. All these places you will visit. All these places you will die, and then conquer. Unbeknownst the depths lie below, through swamp, dungeon and into cavernous flame, the very depths of hell itself. A world seemingly without boundaries, that feels at once familiar and alien. Its denizens cryptic clues, its monsters cruel and unforgiving, but pure of purpose. Lordran cares not for you, and yet… and yet… glimmers of hope in the corners. Respite for weary travellers, words of encouragement from fellow players in the form of messages scorched into the very earth. The tolling of bells both high and low a reminder that victory is possible, urging you forward, careful step by careful step.

There is beauty here, and wonder and reward for those who seek it. But for now you have a bridge to cross, and a new challenge to face. You emerge onto a battlement, a giant drawbridge lies ahead, at its end the heart of the castle. With a cautious glance ahead you step out. Halfway across a dragon appears overhead blood red and steel clawed. Its breath makes short work of you.

You awaken again at the bonfire. That same bonfire, and can’t help but laugh. Here hubris will be your downfall. So you suit up, ghostly companions by your side, take a breath, and go again.

Lower Your Weapons

The following article was posted on D-Pad yesterday:

It happened gradually, now that I think back, but at the time the realisation hit me quite out the blue: I'm tired of shooting things in video games. Countless shooters, waves of enemies whether human, alien or other, weapon variety that bleeds into hegemony; the proliferation and standardisation of the shooter over the last decade or more has established it as the backbone of the gaming industry, but it is this uniformity of design and structure that has recently left me feeling disconnected from the sorts of games I used to enjoy.

Games have always been good at a few core things, and shooting has always been high up on this list. The natural feel of controlling a weapon, aiming and firing at targets mixes the interactivity and skill-based mechanics that separate games from other media, and the added adrenaline rush that comes from such visceral situations allows repetitive action to fill in the gaps in place of narrative and story. The fact is that shooting is what games do best, they work as power fantasy, as a way of engaging players with action and as immersion into situations most people are fortunate to never have to face in real life (believe me, when the alien invasion comes I’ll be down in the cellar, bravely protecting the food supplies). But whilst this experience was novel 20 years ago, the seemingly 3D hallways of Wolfenstein and Doom were such an advancement on the limitations of what had come before it was no wonder they grabbed so much attention, now technology within video games has reached such a peak that the notion of being able to walk around and interact with a virtual world no longer holds the same sort of inherent thrill.

Couple this with the fact that the genre has virtually fallen into stagnation in terms of basic gameplay design and you have vast swathes of the gaming landscape that no longer hold much appeal for me. But the issue goes deeper than just the modern military shooter, it extends to third person cover-based shooters and even action games. How many people does Nathan Drake kill over the course of the Uncharted games? As has been discussed before this not only leads to sections of the games feeling like a slog through bullet sponge enemies (and this is coming from a big fan of those games) but it also causes a fundamental disconnect between the character in the story Naughty Dog are trying to tell (flawed, charismatic and goofy adventure hero) with the mass murdering competent marksman who leaves a trail of bodies throughout the game.

This is but one of the problems that come with trying to tell more nuanced, human stories in modern games, whilst maintaining the gameplay template of what has come before. There are no easy answers though, if you aren't to spend your time shooting things, then what is it you would do for 10-15 hours in a strongly narrative driven game? One path is that of adventure games, where the emphasis is on exploration of environment, conversation and puzzle solving. But these games are often slow and unengaging for many used to the frantic pace of modern games. Rockstar’s flawed but ambition LA Noire looked to bridge this gap, similarly David Cage’s output from Fahrenheit to Heavy Rain and the upcoming Beyond: Two Souls have a heavy focus on character and story with little or no traditional gunplay.

Recently I played through Dear Esther, a very interesting piece of interactive fiction created using the Half Life 2 engine and set on a mysterious island. The game consists of randomised voice over clips playing as you explore the seemingly abandoned locale, there are no actions you can perform, but the combination of atmosphere, music and the ambiguous story that unveils itself to you as you play make it strangely compelling. It certainly stretches the boundaries of what you consider a game, having no real action or fail state, but it also works in a way not possible in a short film or art piece. It uses the medium of video games to create something new, and it got me excited by the possibility when developers look outside of the familiar.

Steve Gaynor, former Idle Thumbs contributor and designer responsible for the excellent Minerva’s Den DLC for Bioshock 2 recently left Irrational Games to form his own indie games studio where the focus is on smaller, story driven titles. The first of these announced is interesting games I have flagged for release in the coming year.Gone Home, a first person exploration game that already is one of the most Recently the Telltale Walking Dead games have provided me with some of the most intense and involving experiences I've had playing a game in years, all through crafting memorable, real characters, telling a compelling story and then tying that to simple gameplay that priorities choices and consequences in a way that no other medium can offer. It’s a compelling case for the kinds of games that I find engage me at the moment.

Not that all games should fit a specific mould, I'm merely advocating for a wider spectrum of experiences and for something new to be brought to the table. There is definitely a place for more traditional shooters, just as there is for tight gameplay-system driven games, but personally ever since Shenmue offered up a semblance of a realistic world to simply explore and live in, I have been enamoured with the possibility such games can offer. But even if you find yourself enjoying modern shooters, there is no reason why you still can’t look to innovate, or shake things up. Half Life did this magnificently back in 1997, fully immersing the player in a world and carefully setting up its story so that by the time the shooting started you were involved, you were fighting for your life.

Many have described the Call of Duty games and their ilk as rollercoasters, games that propel you through their narrative with tightly scripted events, bombast and a constant stream of shooting-gallery opponents. It’s a very distinctive, and at times effective style of game, but one that offers such restrictive freedom and such constrained gameplay systems (gunplay, turrets, vehicles) that it pulls me out completely. I enjoy these games on an immediate, visceral level, but nothing resonates, they provide a quick rush but nothing lasting, and I think as I grow up this is what has become important to me when I consider the time I want to spend consuming media, of all forms.

So yes, sometimes we just want to blow off steam, or save the world, or beat that high-score, but also if we ever want this wonderful, enthralling and frustrating art form of ours to grow we should demand more. We should want more challenging and engaging games that offer experiences we've never had before. It’s easier said than done I know, but what’s the point of aiming high, if you never take a shot?

The Dark Knight Rises (2012)

Finishing up his trilogy of Batman films with bombast and style The Dark Knight Rises is a juggernaut of a film, as massive in scale as the fan hype that has accompanied it to the big screen. For the most part it succeeds in bookending Nolan’s trilogy and tying up loose ends, whilst not slamming the door for possible future entries in the series. However it is also not a film without its issues, as much philosophical as they are structural, the films bloat exceeds that of the previous entries, and despite Tom Hardy’s best efforts it is a film grounded with a villain who is nowhere near as compelling as Heath Ledger’s joker. Its reach seems to almost escape its grasp at times, having so much ground to cover and a story told on such a scale that relating the small and human to the wider context is difficult, leaving plot machinations at the heart of what should be deeper and more personal.

Eight years have passed since the death of Harvey Dent, in that time Gotham has become a safer, virtually crime-free city. Bruce Wayne, meanwhile, has become something of a recluse, boarded up in the rebuilt Wayne manor mourning the death of Rachel and refusing to re-engage with the world. But there are stirrings of a gathering force beneath the city, led by the notorious Bane, a mercenary born and raised in the world’s toughest prison, and of a reckoning that will force Batman back into the spotlight.

Like the other films in the series the Dark Knight Rises starts slowly, re-introducing characters and new faces alike, of these newcomers Anne Hathaway and Joseph Gordon-Levitt are the standout. Hathaway’s Selina Kyle is never named as Catwoman but she imbues what could have been merely a foil for Batman with a conflicted morality that develops nicely throughout the film. Levitt has a somewhat tougher task playing a rookie cop, John Blake, who is drawn into the fight against Bane. It’s a tricky role, one that is largely reactive and set up with a clear purpose that is relatively obvious early on, but Levitt plays it well crafting a real character from someone who could have been much less. Michael Caine is wonderful once again as Alfred, but his character in this is reduced to heavy-lifting the film’s emotional beats, making them feel slightly perfunctory rather than truly earned. 


The lack of Batman himself though is a definite problem, throughout these films it has often felt like Nolan was never truly comfortable with the character himself, presented in the context of the grounded realism of Gotham this man in a costume never quite gels. Here when he is involved it works slightly better, perhaps because the film in general is bigger and less grounded than its predecessor, but it still left me reflecting on how little we actually see of the character in action and how this version of Bruce Wayne feels slightly muddled.

On the opposing side Bane makes a suitable imposing villain, his voice though, a sort of muffled British upper-class hybrid, takes some getting used to and despite clear work to clarify it in the edit (resulting in it often feeling dubbed over and not physically present) it can still be hard to make out at times, largely because there is no visual information to accompany it, Bane’s mask obscuring all but Tom Hardy’s eyes and leaving him the difficult job of conveying emotion with very little.

It may sound like I am being critical here, but only because Christopher Nolan sets the bar so high for himself, the film remains a very entertaining and well made Batman film, it has some great moments but has not resonated or stuck with me since watching it. Compared to Nolan’s other films it feels almost perfunctory in a way I am unused to, as if this was a film his heart was not truly in. It tries to cram so many elements together that it loses the great sense of thematic unity Nolan so often constructs, teasing it apart it is hard to discern much really going on under the hood, and where it does bring back motifs and ideas from the previous films it doesn’t do much to expand upon them and brings little new to the table. As such it remains a good film hampered by its history to an extent, whether or not this is a fair judgement to make is a valid question, but we cannot simply appreciate entertainment in a vacuum and as I’ve analysed my somewhat lack of engagement, this is the source as far as I can discern.

Technically as impressive as you would expect and capped with some great action scenes and character moments I would still struggle to call the Dark Knight rises a failure in any real sense, after all years ago I would have been crying out for a Batman film this good, this deep and this enjoyable, but it also feels that Nolan’s trilogy deserved a better send off, that the ending feels like a nod to the fans feels contrary to his approach to the films thus-far. To contextualise it in terms of the films themselves, it feels like Nolan gave the fans the film they wanted, but not necessarily the film they deserved.

D-Pad Reviews Archive

As well as blogging here I also contribute game reviews and features for D-Pad Magazine on occasion. This post will maintain a link to the articles I publish as and when they go up:
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Papo & Yo review - 28/8/12
Feature: Lower Your Weapons - 11/8/12
Dragon's Dogma - 12/06/12
E3 2012 Thoughts and Predictions - 2/6/12
Twisted Metal - 28/3/12
Final Fantasy XIII-2 - 2/3/12
Professor Layton and the Spectre's Call - 9/1/12
Games of 2011 - 22/12/11
Carnival Island - 2/12/11
Ratchet & Clank: All 4 One - 1/11/11
Feature: Becoming the Storyteller - 24/10/11
Resistance 3 - 3/10/11
Deus Ex: Human Revolution - 12/9/11

Martha Marcy May Marlene (2011)

A thriller with very few immediate thrills, and a psychological study without any real catharsis, Sean Durkin’s somewhat awkwardly titled Martha Marcy May Marlene is a difficult film to pin down, and an even more difficult one to shake after the credits have rolled. The film follows the titular Martha, a young woman who we see in the opening minutes fleeing a commune of sorts out in the country by way of the surrounding woodland. Panicked she breaks down upon reaching the nearest town and calls her sister, who takes her back to the isolated lake-house she shares with her new husband. From here we, the viewers, are treated to gradual flashbacks to Martha’s past, discovering how she found herself slowly being indoctrinated into an abusive cult, fronted by John Hawkes’ charismatic but menacing leader. This is not a film of big reveals or twists, it is obvious early on the nature of Martha’s absence (or Marcy May as she was christened in the commune) but in cross-cutting between the past the present, and by keeping Martha’s family out of the loop (Martha refuses to confide in them, her gradual breakdown symptomatic to them of instability without cause) it is only gradually, over the course of the film, that we discover exactly what it was that lead Martha to leave and understand the true impact her time away has had on her damaged psyche.

A film of great stillness and restraint Martha Marcy May Marlene takes in time in peeling back the layers, never over explaining and often only subtly presenting clues as to its intentions. Martha is no innocent victim and through Elizabeth Olsen’s mesmerising performance we see her run the slow realisation of what she has been through in tandem with glimpses of her impulse and rebellious nature, the same nature which caused a, hinted at but never explained, family rift in years previous. She is not afraid to make Martha unsympathetic, she lazes on the care of her sister and whilst physically she has left the commune the lessons the messages so persuasively fed to her during her time there have a way of regurgitating themselves as she clashes against the materialistic ambitions of her sister and brother-in-law, her time readjusting only seems to amplify her fears, there is no quick fix, but maybe she was always broken?

There are no easy answers here, and for those seeking true resolution will find it lacking in Durkin’s ambiguity. More than a psychological study though, the film’s true nature emerges, manifesting horror through tension and anxiety, even in its most mundane of moments. Thanks Daniel Bensi and Saunder Jurriaans' discordant, affecting score we never feel safe, or settled, despite the lake-house’s idyllic setting. As the flashbacks to the commune become more disturbing Martha’s paranoia infects the viewer, Durkin’s camera lingers on the edge of frames, daring something to happen to break the monotony and refusing to let the unsettling feel that pervades the film rescind. The revelations build as we see just what Patrick and the cult are capable of, the culmination confounding expectations again by leaving many questions still unanswered. For some this may be a step too far, and there is a certain tacit agreement implied in the viewer that all the answers will not be forthcoming, which may feel unsatisfying, but to me the refusal to break the sustained tension accumulated by the film instead helped it resonate after.

Throughout the film works thanks to a wonderful control of tone and emotion, it can drag a bit, especially in the middle, and those seeking something faster paced, or with more conventional elements may find it lacking, but I found it a distinctive piece, sympathetic but grounded and with its loudest statements made in its quietest moments.