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The Day of the Fugue
Oct. 30th, 2006 01:53 pmTomorrow, it should be noted, is the official release date for Square Enix's Final Fantasy XII. Anyone who follows the videogame industry and has a passing interest in the Final Fantasy series should know this; I don't think there's ever been a bigger gap of time between the release of one game in the series and the next. If you don't follow the videogame industry, you might be wondering what the fuss is all about--and you can be forgiven if you frankly don't care.
Unfortunately, there isn't really any review of the game that explains its appeal to non-gamers. Luke Albiges's review over at eurogamer.net almost comes close, but it's more interested in selling the game to people who've already played it than to those who don't even play videogames, let alone RPGs. (I admit to doing something similar in an e-mail I sent to Tycho over at Penny Arcade--it's behind a cut at the end of this entry.)
If videogames don't even appeal to you, you might think me crazy for my plan to stand in line outside my local GameStop at 11:00 tonight so I can get the game at 12:01 and then spend the next eight hours or so playing it. (And then the fugue shall be broken, and life can return to normal.)
The thing is, with a lot of games, the experience surrounding the game is as important as the game itself. Final Fantasy games have a reputation as something special--they're the summer blockbusters, the sci fi and fantasy epics, frowned upon by the intellectual elite while they're adored by the masses. A Final Fantasy game is reason enough to own a console for many gamers. And then there's the release ritual: the anticipation, the build-up of excitement and rumors and media hype and screenshots and trailers and misinformation, a final countdown, the (mostly futile) search for early copies and stores that are breaking the street date, that final glorious moment of retail transacting and then the game's in your hands. Admire the wrapping, the box.
A word about boxes: you can tell whether a game's supposed to be high- or low-profile based on the box. Most low-profile games have to sell themselves on their boxes; they have to have appealing box-art that jumps out, grabs you, gets your attention. With the high-profile games, they already know you're interested. They can be subtler. The box for Final Fantasy X had nothing but the game's name on the front of the box in that classic font; the back had a piece of concept art and, like, three lines of text.
Still, the box isn't as important as the first moment of opening. Tearing through the security plastic--an irreversible act, you know; stores aren't allowed to exchange or refund games once you've taken the wrapping off now--and popping that box open, looking at the manual, seeing if there's anything else in there. Big role-playing games like Final Fantasy used to come with maps in them. They don't do that any more; they're superfluous to the guide they inevitably want you to buy. I did actually get a game with a map in it not too long ago, though: Rockstar's Bully. That was satisfying. Remind me of this again, several weeks from now; I've got more to say about Bully.
Other things you're likely to find in game boxes: advertisements. Mail-in subscription cards or order forms. Warning pamphlets--these have multiplied as game systems get more involved, more moving parts, and more player activity. None of these box contents (well, other than the game itself) are as important as the manual. Some players will ignore the game manual, choosing to dive right in to the game itself; figure out how the game controls by controlling the game. Final Fantasy X's a great game for this; I bet XII will be, too. I'd rather peruse the manual first--I like to sit down at a restaurant, the game's box open on the seat beside me, and read that thing cover to cover while I sip my drink and finish the last of my fries. Sometimes I'll skim a bit, since you tend to figure out how games are likely to work when you play them for twenty years.
And then, in the end, you put the game in.
You turn the console on.
If the game is good, you spend the next several hours in another reality.
I could go into further detail--how I always let the pregame demo run all the way through once before I start the game, how the presence of a guidebook will alter the experience, or the presence of other people--but that's really the gist of it: at their best, games expand the world in directiosn it didn't go before. You can get a similar feeling by immersing yourself in a book or a movie, although it's never as effective. In a videogame, the fourth wall is behind you. You may not be represented in the story in any way; you may not get to make any meaningful choices. But simply by having a hand in making things play out the way they do, you are drawn into the confines of the game world.
If the game is good. Final Fantasy XII is one of the best.
* * *
Penny Arcade has been quite dismissive of Final Fantasy XII. When they did their little parody on September 7, I was compelled to argue in favor of the game--although I probably didn't need to bother, since Jeremy Parish was doing the exact same thing. Anyway, I never got a response, so I thought I might as well post the letter here in honor of the game's impending release.
( Read more... )
Unfortunately, there isn't really any review of the game that explains its appeal to non-gamers. Luke Albiges's review over at eurogamer.net almost comes close, but it's more interested in selling the game to people who've already played it than to those who don't even play videogames, let alone RPGs. (I admit to doing something similar in an e-mail I sent to Tycho over at Penny Arcade--it's behind a cut at the end of this entry.)
If videogames don't even appeal to you, you might think me crazy for my plan to stand in line outside my local GameStop at 11:00 tonight so I can get the game at 12:01 and then spend the next eight hours or so playing it. (And then the fugue shall be broken, and life can return to normal.)
The thing is, with a lot of games, the experience surrounding the game is as important as the game itself. Final Fantasy games have a reputation as something special--they're the summer blockbusters, the sci fi and fantasy epics, frowned upon by the intellectual elite while they're adored by the masses. A Final Fantasy game is reason enough to own a console for many gamers. And then there's the release ritual: the anticipation, the build-up of excitement and rumors and media hype and screenshots and trailers and misinformation, a final countdown, the (mostly futile) search for early copies and stores that are breaking the street date, that final glorious moment of retail transacting and then the game's in your hands. Admire the wrapping, the box.
A word about boxes: you can tell whether a game's supposed to be high- or low-profile based on the box. Most low-profile games have to sell themselves on their boxes; they have to have appealing box-art that jumps out, grabs you, gets your attention. With the high-profile games, they already know you're interested. They can be subtler. The box for Final Fantasy X had nothing but the game's name on the front of the box in that classic font; the back had a piece of concept art and, like, three lines of text.
Still, the box isn't as important as the first moment of opening. Tearing through the security plastic--an irreversible act, you know; stores aren't allowed to exchange or refund games once you've taken the wrapping off now--and popping that box open, looking at the manual, seeing if there's anything else in there. Big role-playing games like Final Fantasy used to come with maps in them. They don't do that any more; they're superfluous to the guide they inevitably want you to buy. I did actually get a game with a map in it not too long ago, though: Rockstar's Bully. That was satisfying. Remind me of this again, several weeks from now; I've got more to say about Bully.
Other things you're likely to find in game boxes: advertisements. Mail-in subscription cards or order forms. Warning pamphlets--these have multiplied as game systems get more involved, more moving parts, and more player activity. None of these box contents (well, other than the game itself) are as important as the manual. Some players will ignore the game manual, choosing to dive right in to the game itself; figure out how the game controls by controlling the game. Final Fantasy X's a great game for this; I bet XII will be, too. I'd rather peruse the manual first--I like to sit down at a restaurant, the game's box open on the seat beside me, and read that thing cover to cover while I sip my drink and finish the last of my fries. Sometimes I'll skim a bit, since you tend to figure out how games are likely to work when you play them for twenty years.
And then, in the end, you put the game in.
You turn the console on.
If the game is good, you spend the next several hours in another reality.
I could go into further detail--how I always let the pregame demo run all the way through once before I start the game, how the presence of a guidebook will alter the experience, or the presence of other people--but that's really the gist of it: at their best, games expand the world in directiosn it didn't go before. You can get a similar feeling by immersing yourself in a book or a movie, although it's never as effective. In a videogame, the fourth wall is behind you. You may not be represented in the story in any way; you may not get to make any meaningful choices. But simply by having a hand in making things play out the way they do, you are drawn into the confines of the game world.
If the game is good. Final Fantasy XII is one of the best.
* * *
Penny Arcade has been quite dismissive of Final Fantasy XII. When they did their little parody on September 7, I was compelled to argue in favor of the game--although I probably didn't need to bother, since Jeremy Parish was doing the exact same thing. Anyway, I never got a response, so I thought I might as well post the letter here in honor of the game's impending release.
( Read more... )
