PixlBit

Of all the exceptional titles that have been birthed and re-birthed this generation, there is no genre more surprising and satisfying then the sudden sprouting of retro-inspired games that have truly begun a renaissance in the video game world. From old-school Beat 'em Ups like Scott Pilgrim vs The World, to controller-throwing difficulty as seen in Super Meat Boy, the retro-renaissance has thoroughly established that what worked well over a decade ago still has a warm, welcoming home in today's world of near photo-realistic graphics and dual-analog, 10 button control schemes.

But these games aren't just nostalgia-inducing fun, nor are they sarcastic throwbacks to a time long, long ago. Whether they are originating from contemporary developers like Pixel (Cave Story), or well-established companies like Square-Enix (Final Fantasy 4: Complete Collection), retro-spun games have the same piercing charm for both old and young gamers, and whether you were around for the Commodore or started with the Playstation 2, these games are simply applicable on a core foundation of entertainment that we all expect and want from our video games. And whether it's 8 bit models, genre admiration, or even a remake, there is no mistaking the sheer power of what these designs and gameplay can instantaneously evoke.

That said, there is a reason for us to (theoretically) pry these titles open and peek inside, as within each and every one of these games lies a facet of video game wisdom that modern games seem to continuously forget or miss, facets that otherwise could have saved a title from falling short or letting gamers down. And while modern-standards were once, well, modern, this retro-renaissance has once more shattered the stagnant mold of expectations in our videogames, and only through these titles, games of admiration to the past but with eyes to the future, will we discover where "modern" need migrate (or perhaps pilgrimmage) next.

 

 

It's Okay to be Difficult

It's no myth that videogames have become easier throughout the growth of software, and for a variety of solid reasoning as well (control adaptation/growth, artistic-intent, commercialist research, etc :). That said there is zero reason to sabotage a game that would otherwise be more enjoyable with higher difficulty by choosing to comply with contemporary game design and standard (low) expectations of skill. But that's not to ignore opinion, as a game's difficulty is truly at the behest of the gamer that is playing it; while I breezed through Alan Wake's Hard Difficulty, many others found it increasingly difficult. That said, there are specific games and game-types that truly would flourish by punishing the gamer, and this can be found mostly in games that begun in that fashion, but have since moved onwards in new, modern directions (Super Mario 3D Land, Final Fantasy 13, etc:). What an increased difficulty would serve in these games is a revitalization of a long-lived root of an exact fact as to what makes video games so very fun; succeeding.

Mega Man 9 on the downloadable market(s) is an example of how difficulty is beneficial to the core product. While MM9 may have caught a few consumers off-guard with its brutal onslaught of yoctogram-precise platforming jumps and 1/3 health-chipping from boss attacks, the game creates an overwhelmingly satisfying mentality of success in each and every area passed, as you are forever "under the gun" and at all times stressed to use your gaming skills at their 100% best. And your reward is always the same; another, harder level! And yet, this consistent challenge, this friction, is what not only has made the Mega Man series so long endeared and loved, but also what established so many long-lived franchises and allowed for them the success they have gained.

While MM9 is an extreme example of the retro-renaissance games and their difficulty, it is also the highest to regard in just what difficulty is supposed to do with videogames, which is to unlock art. No other form of media is as oppressive as videogames are; books will not close on you suddenly if you don't "get" the prose, and films will not rewind to the beginning if you don't pay attention to a scene. Videogames, and videogames alone, are as distant from you once purchased as they are when reading about them in a preview, and only by conquering a game, immersing yourself into an entirely separate, unique world, does the product slowly allow for you to see it in its full. And this withdrawal of content, of battle between gamer and art, is something both special and sacred to video games as a whole, and deserves to be recognized and considered by each and every game when deciding on the standard of difficulty.

 

 

Do Less, Instill More

Videogames have absolutely been the most rapidly evolving form of media ever, and while there are some natural-selection type bumps along the way (Power Glove, say), this hasty growth has surprisingly churned out near always for-the-better content and products. What begun with painstakingly simple but overtly complex computer-interfaces and dauntless dedication by early developers to procure two "l"'s on a screen with a square sliding between them, has now evolved into the cinematic masterpieces of games like Heavy Rain and the novel-worthy contemporary classic Bioshock. And these modern capabilities in games are truly wonderful, and trying to imagine a game like Uncharted 2 in any form less then what the PS3 made possible is not only impossible but concretely undesirable.

These games, though, are exceptional, and trophies of the modern gaming world. Through their emphasis on Grade A story-telling and "Damn the budget!" cinematics, these titles, with the right team behind them, came through from the murky depths of development and publisher houses and graced the gaming world with experiences not soon to be forgotten. Sadly though, it is more often a game undertakes the same stead and dedication of the above-mentioned titles, but comes out a convoluted mess that simply bit off more than it could chew. And the truth, which the retro-renaissance is consistently smashing us over the head with, is that a game needn't do more then play good to be good. That isn't to say ignore what contemporary gaming can offer, but to at least prevail where it should offer. Truly, there is no excuse for a modern game to play badly.

The game that really launched this Retro trend into the beast that it is is also the best example of what I mean by this; Castle Crashers. Using a barebones concept (save the princess'), Castle Crashers went ahead and surpassed all the fiction and mythos and cinematic fluff of contemporary games and focused entirely on its gameplay. Utilizing the sheer fun of couch (or online) co-op, stylish Beat 'em Up gameplay, and additioning light RPG and collective elements to the mix, Castle Crashers became a game that well surpassed retail titles in both content and enjoyment, and re-established what is an all-too obvious truth that gameplay matters. There are mounds of personality, character and creativity in this game, and there isn't a single line of dialogue. That's not to say a full retail release should be silent, but that both games and gamers do not require an ever-waiting cutscene or an expensive one-shot game mechanic to prioritize one moment over another. Truly, the gameplay just needs to be fun, and focusing on cleaner in-game animation and variable gameplay is far more powerful and enlivening then a million dollars worth of cutscenes and scripted idleness. 

 

Again, I am not saying plot or character need be discarded. But what seems to keep evading the consensus of modern developers is that despite we gamers now entering the roles of highly developed characters like Ezio Auditore (Assassin's Creed) or Joseph Capelli (Resistance 3), we, the gamer, are still controlling them, are still ghosting our own consensus and choice into the character. So while the character may have all these side-stories and varied plot lines to be illuminated upon with idle game moments, it would always be more intimate a moment if the gamer by him/herself direct and lead the moment, and to experience it in the natural gameplay. Instead of breaking a gun-fight off with a cutscene to show a loved one die and my protagonist become sad/grumpy, why not allow me to see him/her die during the fight, have the rumble alert me of my dangerously shocked heart-beat, and have the protagonist's voice speak for me during gameplay to express the anguish? There is much more that can be expressed and felt in-game then by any budget-breaking video or one-shot mechanic, as it is only in the consistent gameplay that we as gamers are 100% connected to the product itself, which is really the entire point.

 

 

Stay the Course 

With all the great advancements in video game possibility and design, it seems that a lot of games are uncomfortable staying in the same, genre'd shoe for their limited duration, and that is a grave mistake. With Assassin's Creed: Revelations, you'll be finding yourself in an obscure side alley of Tower-Defense for a brief, entirely unnecessary period of time, and even Red Dead Redemption pits you into some bizarre Ranch Simulator experience herding cows for scenes both entering and exiting the game, a gameplay element that you won't be doing much of at all (mercifully so) in the several hours between these two much undesired hiccups of what is an otherwise satisfying game. And despite the rational that goes into these off-set ideas (Plot for AC:R; Character for RER), these non-essential gameplay elements only disrupt what is the coherent process of a video game and gamer uniting into the intimate adventure that make video games themselves special.

While this wasn't a "feature" of old-school games so much as it was a subjection, the retro-renaissance titles recognize that what the established gameplay is of their games must remain so throughout the priority game itself (All You Can Quaff in Castle Crashers is an obvious mini game completely absent from the main game, for example). And while it may seem wise to procure a variety of elements and use a smorgasbord of genres and multiple gametypes to make specific sections more befitting of the in-house artistic vision, it, quite simply, isn't. With fiction-writing, one of the most important rules is "One Story, One Point-of-View." The same rule applies here, and for the very same reason also; through consistency awaits intimacy. And it's in the brief, pixel-adore titles like Mutant Mudds and Cave Story that we gamers have no qualms with becoming attached to, and the reason why is because the priority gameplay is just solid, consistent fun.

A modern example of an inspired game done right, though, is Borderlands. Classifying Borderlands would come out something like "A First-Person Shooter in an Open World with RPG questing and leveling, multi-player co-op/competitive, and zombies." Every article here procures the idea of separate game types unconnected to one another, and it is more than okay to be skeptical of Borderlands if all you know about it is that summary I just gave. Except, Borderlands is phenomenal, and the reason why is because Borderlands is a First-Person Shooter, and has some RPG elements. Yes, you do go on quests and your character does level up, except quests are undertaken by your natural movement from one area to the next in understood, consistent FPS fashion, and your characters levels occur from what FPS' are all about; shooting things. Multiplayer changes nothing about the established FPS gameplay, and the zombies segment of Borderlands are an entirely unique vision that was designed specifically to the actual atmosphere and gameplay style of Borderlands. What Borderlands is is a First-Person Shooter, except it has an assortment of flavors suppressed beneath the priority gameplay that never once attempt to overtake that which makes Borderlands so universally approachable, and also so memorable. Borderlands recognizes the many additional game-types that can (and do) make modern games more interesting and widely applicable, but it does not sabotage that which is its foundation to adore them, and it is all the wiser for it.

 

 

Video games are forever in forward motion, be it by new software, higher budgets, new talent, or plain ol' competition. But despite this rapidity of growth, or the angst of genre dominance, or the ever-contradicting cries of the gaming community, the most relevant concern for any video game is to not lose sight of what video games alone offer; an interactive experience. And while games like Super Meat Boy or VVVVVV may not provide novel-length stories, or jaw-dropping cinematics, or even a character you care about, they do provide a resounding gameplay that consistently gifts the gamer with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and satisfaction, and those sensations, those feelings, are the only thing we gamers have ever asked for in return from our games. And, in this writer's opinion, that's all we'll ever need.