Ghosty, by Shensetta, is about our fear of the unknown, our fear of death. Instructions of a most cryptic nature, like a riddle told quickly, sprawl upon the screen at a tortoise’s pace:
Your objective is to destroy the ghost and eyes that over populate the world.
Thus sprach Shensetta; and thusly it was received:
Mankind occupies a special place on this planet. When first he learned how to create tools, he wrested the Intercontinental Championship from the animal kingdom, but once he evolved and internalized language, the game was up. The King of the Jungle wilted under the double knee drop of art and science, and a World Champion in Perpetuity stood boldly. Each and every challenger has been felled. Some stay boldly standing, juking against the ropes, but even AIDS and cancer know that a late round stoppage awaits them. The apex predator stands alone, yet every dog has his day.
Jump, Copy, Paste, is about that fateful day.
Ultimately, the real monster is you
Terry Cavanagh’s Don’t Look Back has arrived, and the layman has consumed it, briefly revelled in it, and ultimately cast it aside as a child’s plaything. A mere distraction. Distraction from what? No doubt you’ve noticed in the absence of Pigscene the alarmist talking heads of the Liberal Media informing you day by day of the collapse of the global economy, and all too often the word “crisis” is bandied about. Yet there’s an ethereal crisis that inhabits our mortal realm — invisible to some, proving the existence of the political spectrum as a subset of the electromagnetic spectrum — a crisis Terry Cavanagh sets out to expose.
Therein lies the intricate beauty of Cavanagh’s creation, Atlas Shrugged wrapped in Etch-a-Sketch’s clothing, equal parts genius commentary and puerile, callow indulgence. The player, embodied by the character, seeks escapism from the harsh realities of life, turning to an abstract world free of the laws of man, yet still possessed of the great freedoms The Constitution of the United States of America provides — running, jumping, shooting varmints in the posterior.
Truly, things are just peachy. In your pleasant, pastel surroundings, you gayly hop, skip, jump, bag a few animals, live a life of frivolity. And then something happens. You’re plunged into darkness, enveloped in the crushing grasp of The Invisible Hand, and in this darkness is a spark of illumination. Things weren’t peachy. They were Red, they were just, they were pro-life. (more…)
“A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step.”
- Confuscius
Free will. Choice. The if-else statements that control the program flow that is the human existence — a program that ultimately ends with “return 0;” — a return to naught. To distill the sayings of a character in Hideo Kojima’s Metal Gear Solid 4 — to boil it and extract the pure meaning of the dangerous poison of the Kojima Frog — one can become ten. Ten can become one hundred. But zero? A zero cannot become a one.
Bernie’s Treasure Hunter Man is a wonderful gamepiece in the Octacamo-ian guise of a petty game about treasure hunter. The main character, Marvin, or shall I say, MArviN (Note the capitalized letters for they reveal my gambit), must embark on a journey of a thousand miles — or at least, a couple thousand kilobytes — a journey full of peril, adventure, and above all, treasures. The role of treasure in this game plays the same role as it does in Passage (an oft cited game in academic gamepiece circles) — mere distractions from our inevitable returning of 0.
Treasure Hunter Man starts with the birth of MArviN — his descent from the heavens and crash landing on an alien world — Port Kruz. Here he is given a binary choice, two roads diverging in a yellow wood; the leftward path — a path off a cliff; and a rightward path; the path of progress.
I’ll not beat around the bush; I am a thinker; an iconoclast; I oppose the flow of the mainstream and choose to swim upriver to its source — the origin of meaning — the spring of the free thought. As such, I made a choice that reflected my attitudes — a destructive choice, to be sure — one that lead me off the ledge of reason and into the chasm of the unknown.
I went left.
The screen did not scroll — there was no hidden room at the foot of that pit, just the absense of level data — NULL, personified.
But the Game was not Over.
I continued to fall. Surely such an obvious folly could not have simply been an oversight on Bernie’s part. No. This was purposeful. There was intent behind this action. I sat in wait, staring at the screen, for a minute, then for ten minutes (I did not have the patience, nor stamina, to wait 100 minutes, sadly), waiting for a glint of change, but there was none. Two roads diverged in the a yellow wood (the wood flooring of the first level, is in fact, brown) — and I chose the one less travelled. And contrary to Frost’s depiction of this scenario, it did not make a difference in the world — the world continued — unchanged — unmoved. It did not even bat its metaphorical eye.
Now you are probably clamoring “How dare you write dismiss an entire game on behalf of a single bug?”
Bug? There are no “Bugs”, in life. The “Bugs” that inhabit your garden, for example, are not some oversight by our Holy Programmer — they are intentional and integral to the program of Life (not to be mistaken with the famous Game of Life, which is a shoddy portrayal at best). This gamepiece is a statement on choice, the permanence of human folly. There is no Game Over; no Continue. You cannot Save nor Load. The journey of life starts with a single step, but know this — the wrong first step will cut your journey quite short indeed!
Treasure Hunter Man (Direct Link) by Bernie, 4 MB
Hatman is, put simply, a great game. Unlike other titles, riding an endless wave of nostalgia fuelled by idiotic man children with no desire to grow up, Hatman feels like your first love, but it doesn’t make you feel awkward because it’s not 13 years old. Though clearly inspired by several other games, Hatman’s secret recipe has just enough proprietary noxious chemicals to differentiate it from the stampeding herd of NES games made in the Space Year 200X.
Using the ever popular Z and X keys, you guide Hatman through – as of now – 3 levels, each culminating in a boss fight. This is of course standard fare, and barely worth writing about. Hatman’s meat and potatoes comes from its central play mechanic, you attack enemies (crudely drawn, though they be) by throwing your hat at them, which you can control mid-flight. Hatman is, without question, no triumph of art. However, it is engineered with a calculated efficiency, a core beauty that is solely the result of programming.
You’ll not be moved to tears by its message, you’ll not be awed by its visage, and you’ll certainly not lose yourself in its rich sound. You will, however, be impressed by “it”. Its inner workings on display, a wondrous mechanical feat amongst the art on display in Indie Gaming’s Great Hall, clashing with its surroundings, mayhaps even ruining the aesthetic. Yet still deserving of its pedestal.
There’s no grand scheme in sight, not the slightest ethereal whiff of meaning, nor microscopic clue of message. Hatman stands bare in front of all who witness it, intellectually barren, yet intriguing and respectable on another level. Hatman attempts only to be engaging, fun, and solidly built, forsaking all other tenets of great culture, and yet, is that not a bold artistic statement in and of itself?
Hatman is a study in contradictions. The noble savage. The great intellectual slaving away at menial tasks, sweat pouring profusely from his forehead, tremendous effort exerted, not in the name of something he loves, but for the sake of remembering that feeling. What it is to be human.
Hatman (Direct Link) by Bibin, 2.66 MB
(Be sure to install the font that’s included in the zip!)
Ah yes — finally! A game whose play mechanics revolve around time. Time, that which heals all wounds, yet corrodes the cardboard of the brightly colored rectangular coffins that line up the Best Buy aisles — turning them into dust. Sony, Microsoft take note: Indie games aren’t sold in “boxes.” You cannot corrode an idea.
Hempuli‘s Timerocketxby stars a character armed with a bazooka who must reach the goal in each level while avoiding contact with various men in suits. To do this, you must manipulate time, shoot rockets, and kill the men in suits. Now without imbuing my own meaning into the game, here’s a decoder ring by which to untangle the ideological knots that are presented in the game:
Men in Suits: Commercialization/Globalization/Microsoft
Protagonist: You (As in the royal “You”, as in all of you)
Bazooka: Game Maker 7.0 Pro.
You might say this game feels a bit like the indie game “Braid,” to which I might begin to retort but then simply stop, only to ask “Indie?”, pointing you towards Braid’s $180,000 budget, and then towards a small door. A green “Exit” sign overhead — flickering on and off – beckoning you to enter. You open the door and step through. You are greeted by Mario and Sonic on the other side.
Yes, whereas Braid presented time as a means to solve all problems, Timerocketxby presents a starkly non-apologetic view of time manipulation:
“Wouldn’t it be great?” says the old man, “If I could turn back time and feel young again?”
“Wouldn’t it be great?” says the newlywed, “If I could stay in this moment forever?”
“Wouldn’t it be great?” says the criminal, “If I could forgo my prison sentence?”
“No”, says Hempuli, “Time is useful for one thing, and for one thing only — to make platforms of us all.”
You see, time manipulation in Timerocketxby has one purpose — to turn everything in the game world into something upon which you can stand. Society was built on the shoulders of others — what if it had been built on the shoulders of other things like bullets, rain, and explosions? There would be no such thing as slavery. What a beautiful world that would be.
Timerocketxby (Direct Link) by Hempuli, 1.28 MB
Derek Yu. The mere utterance of his name conjures up images of the American pioneers; the first dog sent to space. The father of modern indie gaming. His career a figurative rocketship cast off into the heavens of indie stardom. Ah, yes, but as with a rocketship who’s exhausted its fuel, the slight curvature of the brow of Derek Yu suggests he has now made the stark realization of a force much greater than even his own. A force called Ironic Gravitation — a force recognized by a Sir Isaac Newton falling into a basket of apples. Derek Yu. Facing, as the French would say, his dénouement. Hurling towards abject failure (a thing the French are oft cited for as well).
Before a drug is properly introduced into the public for mass consumption and abuse, it must be certified by the FDA. Its dosages scientifically calculated so as to ensure lucrativity in a world of recreational drug use. This is why Crest White Strips are not natively sold in England because they contain too high a concentration of peroxide. This is why LSD is not natively sold in America, because it gives too much power to the seedy underclass oft associated with the distribution of this otherwise innocuous drug. Let it be said, however, that these restrictions are not arbitrary; these restrictions are so placed in consideration for the benefit and safety of all mankind.
The leaked beta of Spelunky is pre-FDA Derek Yu. Pure, unfiltered Derek Yu — unfiltered in the sense that NIGSource is “Independent Gaming News. Unfiltered.” as in, it is filtered only through the Derek Yu’s mind, the filtrous (Real word? It should be) opposite of an ordinary filter — letting through only large particles and holding back the small ones (The particles being a metaphor for indie games, as are most things in life). Spelunky contains a deadly concentration of Derek Yu, unfit for public consumption, or at least, human consumption.
Therein lies an unfettered look into the madness that is Derek Yu’s mind — a mind wrought with Cave Story ‘references’ (note the ‘quotes’ [heh, I paralyze myself with my own wit]), which, when scrutinized under the microscope of journalistic integrity, seems a little bit ironic. Ironic Gravitation.
The following is as objective a description of Spelunky’s gameplay. (more…)
(Note: This review was written for the first demo of the game. All the links in the post have been updated to a more recent version)
Ninjas. The last refuge of the truly untalented, the jazz music of video games. Did you ever wonder why Arnold Schwarzenegger was always wildly firing guns, and not delivering complex soliloquies? Consequently, his talents never led him to the ultimate prize. No, not a big shiny statue, but anonymous people on the Internet lauding his artistic merit.
Such is the fate of the ninja game.
To be sure, there is not the faintest whisper of an artistic message, nor the dullest glint of an inner, obfuscated yet exquisite beauty to be found in JW‘s Super Ninja Hunter, and it has fallen into the filthy pit that commercial games writhe in until they embrace death.
Using your, it pains me to say, grappling hook (sigh, let me bust out my accented e) you maneuver the game’s protagonist about the levels, shooting your enemies – I’ll not stoop to typing the n-word again in this article – until they are dead, and you can progress to the next level, culminating in a boss battle. I just checked my shelves, and rest assured, the molds are still there and intact.
Sure, there’s a visceral thrill, fun, if you will, about the mechanics of it all, but this is the year 2008, is this really what we are playing games for? We may be lagging on the technology for flying cars, and monogrammed silver jumpsuits, but I would have hoped for a level of intellectual development amongst the game-consuming public.
If you’re an uncultured savage, by all means, download this game, I’m sure you’ll have a “blast”. However, if you’ve ever spoken a word of Nihongo, ever thematically analysed a French silent film, cried at an art game, or picketed a Gamestop, halt thy clicking finger, lest thy eyes roll so hard they eject from their very sockets. This isn’t buried treasure, it’s a shiny penny atop the sands, lying in wait until it is spirited away by a pea-brained magpie.
Super Ninja Hunter Ancient Civ Edition by JW, 1.82 MB
(Click the ”Download Now” button under “Play Offline” on bottom right.)
World Drawn By Me: Legend of Two Heroes is a controversial new platformer from the aptly named Hell Room. The story is told through a series of comic strips and tells the story of two brothers whose world becomes invaded by forces of darkness. The two brothers are part of a people called “Bigeyes” who are the “keepers of colours.” They have to escape to the “Black Citadel” in order to regain peace in their world. Ahem. Forces of “darkness?” ”Keepers of colours?” “Black Citadel?” Yeah. He went there.
The gameplay consists of getting the “two heroes” (Who are white. Surprised? Hardly.) to the exit. To do this, the two must work together. The older brother is faster (as is made apparent in the second level), and has the ability to push blocks, and throw (yes, THROW) his younger brother. If you want to (and the game tempts you in unspeakable ways), you can even throw the younger brother into a pit. Now, I’m all for video games as an interactive narrative form, but where do we draw the line between narrative and indoctrination? Is this game simply a means of telling a story, or is it training us to throw our siblings into deadly pits? You decide. But know that the answer is the “yes, a thousand times, yes“.
The music, while very well composed, is highly reminiscent of 日本一ソフトウェア‘s 魔界戦記 ディスガイア (Nippon Ichi’s Disgaea for you plebians), a game that unsurprisingly, makes light of satanic behavior. Hell Room (Note the name), you have a lot of explaining to do.
World Drawn By Me (Direct Link) by Hell Room, 14 MB