Gears of War

I completed the original Gears of War last night. A bit late to the party, I suppose, but it was the first title I played on my recently purchased Xbox 360. I'd been intrigued ever since hearing it described as the first significant post-Resident Evil 4 shooter. I was skeptical, but, overall, I found it thoroughly satisfying. The game is far from perfect, but it is well-made and a lot of fun.

Fundamental to the gameplay is the Kill.switch-inspired cover system. Having both the player and enemies relying on cover makes for a welcome departure from the traditional first-person shooter mayhem of trying to tag moving targets while also running around to avoid getting shot yourself. The resulting experience provides a more methodical pace of play, which I find much more my style.

The game's major weakness is its level design. My first two hours or so were pretty amazing, but it soon became apparent that there was a real lack of variety in the action. The game's repeating formula has the player walking into a large space full of cover, whereupon gun-toting aliens emerge from a hole in the ground, and then the player and enemies exchange fire from behind cover until the area is clear. That describes about 75 percent of the gameplay. Another 20 percent is composed of sections where dog creatures charge directly at the player. Frankly, these moments occur too often. Dispensing with the cover mechanics, these segments reminded me of the bad FPS experiences I've had in the past, where I would struggle with the camera and controls while firing blindly at fast moving targets that got too close. The final 5 percent includes short diversions of varying success, including a few boss encounters and a vehicular stage.

While the basic gameplay remains sufficiently fun throughout, there's no denying the lack of imagination, as, aside from equipping enemies with bigger guns as the game progresses, all of the gunfights are exactly the same. There are no set pieces on a par with RE4's barricade cabin, and one can't help feeling that opportunities were missed. The game includes a sniper rifle, but then provides no occasions that take advantage of it. The core game is solid, but it almost feels more like a drawn out demo than a full, finished game.

I must also admit that the lack of any real plot bothered me more than I expected, with the abrupt ending being particularly unsatisfying.

The game's best feature, I'd have to say, is the cooperative play. The game was clearly designed with co-op play in mind. At a basic level, having two men helps to spread the enemy fire. Some sections require the two players to split up, while others, such as the vehicular stage, require splitting responsibilities and working together in different roles. Also, when one player goes down, it's almost always possible for the other to revive them with a simple tap on the shoulder. In fact, this happened quite a lot during my playthrough, and, rather than construing that to mean that a single-player playthrough would have been impossible for me, I should say that knowing my partner could revive me emboldened me to take greater risks.

I played the game on the "Casual" setting, which was the easier of the two default difficulty levels. Despite the excessively hard aesthetic, the actual gameplay is highly accessible, offering frequent checkpoints and a generous health regeneration system. The game itself is also not at all judgmental when it comes to a player's skills, or lack thereof, as the case may be. Sure, I enjoy a good challenge from time to time, but, as I grow older and busier, those occasions are becoming fewer and further between. After such indignities as "Baby" mode, "Ninja Dog," and so on and so forth, I really appreciate the developers' conscious effort to make the game genuinely inviting for players of all skill levels.

I haven't tried the versus multiplayer yet, nor do I expect to in the near future, due to the 360's lack of built in wi-fi, but, whatever my complaints, I enjoyed the co-op campaign a lot and fully intend to pick up the sequel, which hopefully expands on the first game's solid fundamentals with greater variety and richer design.

A Mega Man's World

I read an interview a while back, where Mega Man designer Keiji Inafune claimed that Capcom did not feel that a female protagonist could sell. At the time, I didn't really give it much thought, but, watching Resident Evil: Degeneration recently, I found myself reminded of that interview.

(SPOILERS ENSUE)

The movie featured the long-awaited return of Resident Evil 2's heroine, Claire Redfield, last seen in Resident Evil Code: Veronica in 2000. The movie was disappointing as a whole, but perhaps what most bothered me was how it seemed to waste the event of Claire's return, giving her far less to do overall than fellow Raccoon City survivor, Leon S. Kennedy. During the film's first act, when the characters had to make their escape from a zombie-infested airport, Leon and two SWAT officers provided armed escort, while Claire followed as an unarmed civilian. It struck me as odd that they would not arm Claire, considering what a crack shot she had been in the games, but I supposed perhaps they didn't have enough guns to go around. That turned out not to be the case, as evidenced by a baffling scene, in which Leon, seeing Claire surrounded by zombies, tossed his firearm to her, then suddenly pulled out a second gun so as not to leave himself unarmed. If he had two guns, why didn't he just give his spare to her in the first place?! Then, after expertly dispatching the zombies around her, Claire inexplicably handed the gun back to Leon, even though he already had one and obviously wasn't going to use both.

As the film wore on, Claire had progressively even less to do. While Leon became the focus in the big action sequences, Claire was left pushing buttons and pulling switches in the control room. Most significantly, however, the film also seemed to rule out future action for Claire by establishing that, in contrast to her brother and Leon, she had taken a more passive role in the fight against the biohazard menaces. To be fair, despite her ridiculous moves, she always was a civilian. Since that never stood in the way of her previous adventures, then there's no reason she couldn't appear in a future game. Unless, of course, Inafune is right, and Capcom just doesn't have the confidence to feature a female protagonist.

Capcom has provided Chris Redfield with a female partner in Resident Evil 5, but it has already been stated that, in the single-player game, the player will control only Chris, making Sheva more of a sidekick than a co-protagonist. Meanwhile, recent trailers have suggested that, unless Capcom is holding back some major cards, Jill Valentine will have a supporting role at best. It just strikes me as wrong that one of the franchise's lead characters should be relegated to a peripheral role. To be honest, I would be more comfortable were she not in the game at all, rather saved for some future installment where she would once again be the playable lead.

Back during the PS1 and PS2 eras, Capcom actually had a ton of female leads, including Claire (Resident Evil 2, Resident Evil Code: Veronica), Jill (Resident Evil, Resident Evil 3), Regina (Dino Crisis, Dino Crisis 2), Rebecca Chambers (Resident Evil Zero), and Vanessa Z. Schneider (P.N.03). Not only that, but, as I remember the pre-Resident Evil 4 days, Claire and Jill were actually more popular and more prominent than their male counterparts, with Jill in particular becoming a sort of mascot for the series, even making an appearance in Marvel vs. Capcom 2.

One possibility is that, in the case of the horror-themed Resident Evil series, as well as the RE-derived Dino Crisis games, Capcom's use of female protagonists was inspired by the "final girl" trope from slasher films, and, as the series has moved away from horror and become more action-focused, more traditional male action heroes have become favored.

It may also be worth noting that all of the characters I named were from games developed by Shinji Mikami or Hideki Kamiya, who both left Capcom following the dissolution of Clover Studio. Kamiya's first title since leaving Capcom will be Bayonetta, which basically looks like Devil May Cry with a female lead. Meanwhile, Keiji Inafune has had famously harsh remarks attributing Clover's demise to its consistent failure to deliver on the bottom line. In the post-Clover world, where Inafune may be the top dog at Capcom, perhaps the sudden abandonment of female leads simply reflects his conservative yet reliable personality at the helm.

The Essentials? #11: The 7th Saga

I'd estimate that I've played over fifty role-playing video games over the years, and this was where it all began. The 7th Saga, published by Enix in 1993 for the Super Nintendo Entertainment System, was the first RPG I ever played and also one of the worst. Known in Japan as Elnard, the Produce-developed title was a fairly traditional RPG that adhered very closely to the Dragon Quest formula.

The story of The 7th Saga took place on the world of Ticondera, where the beloved King Lemele, a son of the legendary Saro, had recruited and trained seven apprentices. As the game began, Lemele announced that their five years of training had come to an end. He instructed them to set out in search of the Seven Runes hidden throughout the world. Whoever found the Runes would gain "tremendous power" and "become the leader of this world!" Presumably, Lemele meant to have that apprentice succeed him as king.

To start out, the player would select one of the seven apprentices to be the player character. Kamil Dowanna, a human knight with a strong sense of justice, was the most-balanced character, combining strong attack and good equipment options with mediocre magic. Olvan Jaess, an aged dwarf hoping to use the Runes to restore his youth, was similar to Kamil, but stronger and slower. Valsu Saizer, the righteous human priest, could learn every healing spell in the game, but his offense was limited to the basic Ice spell. Lejes Rimul, an evil demon and dark wizard, who thirsted for the power of the Runes, could use nearly every offensive spell. Esuna Busy, an elf and the lone female apprentice, possessed probably the best mix of spells, as well as the highest magical potency. Wilme Pelin, a useless alien with a bad attitude, could not equip any weapons or armor, had almost no MP, and basically relied on his high speed and HP to get him through. Lux Tizer, a member of the machine race of Tetujin's, whose origins had been lost to time, wanted the Runes to unlock the secrets of his own history. Possessing the greatest defense, his only weaknesses were a lack of speed and MP.

After making your choice, you would then set out immediately on your quest for the Seven Runes. In contrast to something like Final Fantasy IV, the game featured a very sparse narrative, inviting players to just wander according to the geography of the world, moving from town to town and dungeon to dungeon, picking up clues on the Runes' locations. Along the way, you would run into the other apprentices, and some might offer to join you, but it was not possible to have more than one partner. Also, since the player character would claim any Runes found, it wasn't clear what they hoped to get out of joining you. Unfortunately, the player's choice of character had almost no impact on the story. The player character would never speak, nor would your choice affect how others acted toward you.


The game's best feature was probably the Crystal Ball, which served as a radar on the field. The Crystal Ball marked all enemies and towns, as well as the locations of nearby Runes. Instead of being entirely random, monsters would appear as moving dots on the radar. All these years and games later, I still consider it to be the best encounter system in any RPG I've played. Less annoying than random encounters, it also avoided the sense of dread that could come in games like Chrono Trigger, where you could see the enemy in your way and know that you could not avoid them. While the enemy dots moved quickly and unpredictably, there would still be occasions when I would simply find myself "in the zone" and be able to snake my way through a floor of a dungeon without running into any encounters. On the other hand, if you wanted to level-grind, you could simply stand in one place, while the monsters came to you.

The game's other interesting feature was that it used only two buttons, A and B, along with the directional pad, but it was possible to play the game one-handed, substituting L and SELECT for A and B. I found myself doing so more often that I would have expected, and it's a shame that the option is not more common.

Like I said, The 7th Saga was the first RPG that I ever played. My older brother had picked it up hoping probably to get in some quality questing in between releases of Final Fantasy games. He picked Kamil as his character and made it maybe halfway through the game before realizing that it required far more level-grinding than he was prepared to put in. After one too many deaths at the hands of the overpowering Flame enemies, he gave up and replaced it on the shelf, where it would remain for years until I decided, on a whim, to pick it up. I was not that heavy into gaming at the time, but it was summer break, and I had nothing to do. It also seemed a shame to me to have this expensive game just lying around with no one playing it.

I chose Lux for my character, as I had seen my brother's Kamil repeatedly torn apart by enemy attacks, and Lux's high defense stat seemed like the best way to avoid running into that problem. I was somewhat taken aback, however, to find that the bird enemies outside the first town could tear apart even Lux in very short order.

It didn't take me long to realize that this was the sort of game where you would have to commit yourself to going out into the middle of the field with the sole intention of grinding until your character dropped dead, at which point you would find yourself waking up at the nearest inn with half your money gone, essentially payment for the experience you earned before dying. That was how the game was played, and it was unapologetic about it, even encouraging the player to exchange money for gems to prepare for such scenarios. Gems could not be spent, but they could be resold at full value, and enemies would never take them, so it was prudent to convert all your money to gems while traveling, swapping them for gold only when you needed to make a purchase. I spent three summer days out in those fields, just fighting and dying, but, at the end of it, my Lux was prepared for anything. It's not the sort of thing I would or could do now, but, at the time, I didn't really have anything else to compare it to, and, besides, as a kid during the summer, I had the free time available.


The best and worst parts of the game were perhaps the battles against the other apprentices. As mentioned, the player would periodically run into the other characters in towns, and, while some would happily join the player, and others would politely decline, there were also those who would attack the player outright to eliminate the competition. These one-on-one duels were the toughest fights in the game. These rivals would gain levels at the same pace as the player character, so it would not be possible to level-grind against them. Most of the characters could dish out damage close to their own HP, so, win or lose, in theory, these should have been short affairs. In practice, that was only the case if you died immediately. Attacks missed frequently, so you always had to prioritize healing, rather than counting on your next attack to finish them off. It then become a marathon, as you waited patiently until your own health stabilized enough for you to risk an attack. The cleric, Valsu, was by far the most dangerous. Though he wielded only an Ice spell, it was enough to take out Kamil in a single casting, as I saw happen to my brother multiple times. He also possessed the Elixir spell, which fully restored his HP and MP. Even with Lux, I don't think I could have beaten Valsu without the stat-boosting powers of at least five Runes.

If you were defeated, not only would you lose half your gold, but the enemy apprentice would relieve you of any Runes you had obtained. Thankfully, in only one case was it absolutely necessary to take on a fellow apprentice. Midway through the game, you would come across a town which had been taken over by an apprentice using the power of one of the Runes. While it might have made for a great twist, sadly, the identity of this villain was randomized for each playthrough, and his dialogue and motivations would never vary to match the personality of the specific character. It hardly made sense for the virtuous knight, Kamil, to become a tyrant, but that was what happened in my game.

The heinous difficulty is what The 7th Saga is now best remembered for, but those who made it far enough might also remember the surprisingly convoluted ending. Here's how it went down (SPOILERS, highlight to read):

King Lemele, despite being only 100 years old, was somehow a son of the legendary hero Saro, who, 5000 years ago, battled the evil Gorsia. In the more recent past, Lemele had become a hero in his own right by defeating the demon Gariso, who despite his curiously similar name, was apparently completely unrelated to Gorsia. But Gariso was not dead and actually possessed the last of the Seven Runes. Once the player defeated Gariso for the last Rune, thereby completing the quest, Lemele would appear and surprise you by revealing that he was actually Gorsia. He had killed Lemele years ago and taken his place, then used you in order to help him gain the power of the Seven Runes. Gorsia would then zap the player character, sending them back in time 5000 years to when Saro and Gorsia originally fought. As it turned out, the legends were wrong, and Saro was the one defeated in his battle with Gorsia. It would then fall upon the player to defeat Gorsia in the past. The player's duel with Gorsia, though victorious, would end with the player character suffering a mortal wound. Saro, though himself dead, would then use his own flesh to resurrect the player, who would be reborn as Lemele, son of Saro.

Across some fifty RPGs, I've seen some wild stuff, and this was certainly up there. It had been hard enough trying to keep track of the various Gorsias and Garisos, but, then the game decided to throw in some headache-inducing time travel paradoxes during the final hours. So Lemele was actually the reincarnated player character? And also the reincarnated Saro? And Gorsia was Lemele? Did defeating Gorsia in the past have any effect on the present? After all, didn't that stuff already happen 5000 years ago? Would Gorsia/Lemele continue his reign of terror in the present, where the player character is no longer around to stop him? And Gariso really had nothing to do with Gorsia? Whatever.

For many years, The 7th Saga was a running joke in my household, the oft-referenced model of bad RPG design. But, looking back at it now, I realize it wasn't such a bad game. I even have a lot of affection for it. It probably wouldn't make my top twenty-five, no, but it did have a few good ideas, memorable tunes, and some nicely animated battle sprites. The story was not the best, but it was a mostly clutter-free adventure that gave players enough purpose while also allowing a measure of freedom. Really, the only barrier to enjoying the game was its ridiculously grind-heavy difficulty, which remains the highest of any RPG I've ever played.

Resident Evil: Degeneration

For a Resident Evil fan such as myself, the scariest thing these past few years has been knowing that the series would have to go on without creator Shinji Mikami. The first major post-Shinji project, Resident Evil: Umbrella Chronicles, was an enjoyable but unambitious product, neither reassuring nor alarming. How fares the second? All things considered, only hardcore fans would be able to really enjoy Resident Evil: Degeneration.

Taking place between Resident Evil 4 and the upcoming Resident Evil 5, the story is a sequel of sorts to Resident Evil 2, reuniting protagonists Leon S. Kennedy and Claire Redfield to once again take on their old enemy, the T-virus. The details are stupid, but no more so than the plots found in any of the games. In fact, it possesses all the ingredients of the classic-style Resident Evil video games, minus the actual game part. But that's a pretty crucial omission, as the games specifically worked off the interactivity of the medium, devising situations that were compelling to play, rather than entertaining to watch. I'm not saying that the movie features square crank puzzles, but the first half nevertheless gets bogged down with lots of needless conspiracy chatter and inane side characters. Things do pick up considerably, however, with the third act, which is essentially just one long action sequence.

The CG is not terrible, and it looks plenty good enough when it needs to, but, in an industry where technology advances so quickly, it's nowhere near cutting-edge. Capcom was obviously working with a fraction of the budget of a Pixar film, but the characters don't look or move even as well as those in Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children, probably the nearest comparison. On the other hand, the environments may be nicer than Advent Children's, with the highlight being a futuristic pharmaceutical research facility that would have been a great setting for a Resident Evil video game. The character designs are probably the biggest disappointment, especially after how consistently stellar Capcom's work was during the GameCube era. Claire actually looks fine, but Leon's face is oddly jacked-up. He seems to be caught in a perpetually menacing slant-brow stare. Without the hair, he'd be close to unrecognizable. As for the new characters? Uniformly terrible.

If you're planning to watch this in order to fill in the gap between RE4 and RE5, then I'll save you the trouble and tell you that nothing happens of any consequence whatsoever. If you only got into the series with RE4, then, again, you probably need not bother with this, as it's basically just RE2 fanservice. And, even if you're an RE2 fan, I must warn you that the fanservice is mostly just characters reminding one another that, yeah, RE2 happened. Really, this movie is only for those near-unconditional fans who have played all the games and spent years obsessively trying to sort out their stories. I'll admit to classifying myself in that category, and so I managed to enjoy it on that level, but, honestly, even I had more fun with the first Milla Jovovich movie. So, yeah, it's pretty awful.

The Departed

So the day arrives for the big shuffle at work, when everybody in the lab gets assigned a new desk, along with new neighbors. The process should, in theory, go very smoothly and quickly for me, since, unlike others, I keep no clutter at my desk--nothing but the tools themselves with which I work. The move is also not very far this time, so no need to wait in line for the elevator.

Feeling no urgency to pack things and clean up in advance, I decide to simply work as normal until the scheduled time of the move, at which point I steer my chair and file cabinet over to my new area. What do I find there? A dusty mess littered with personal items. Clearly, whoever has been sitting here has not prepared at all for the move. Are they absent today? That's no excuse; the move was scheduled days ago. They could have at least stuffed some of the nonessentials into their cabinet.

Still hoping that I won't now have to move this person's things in addition to my own, I ask around to make sure that they really aren't in today. I ask their neighbor across from them, currently busy collecting his own things. Not only does the neighbor not know whether this person is here, he doesn't even know who the person is. How could this be? Haven't they been sitting across from one another these last six months? Because that's how long I was sitting at my desk.

I ask the other people who have been sitting in the same area with this individual. Nobody knows anything. A nametag is still on the desk. It's an androgynous name. It doesn't ring a bell with anyone. I ask the supervisor in charge of the seating area, whose job it should be to know where her people are. "Oh yeah, I think maybe he quit or got laid off." That's all she knows.

Checking under the desk, I notice that the computer is actually on. Only the monitor is off, so I switch it on. The first thing I see is an open IM window with a message dated 12/11/2008. That was the date of the layoffs. Things are starting to make a little sense. The invisible man, having just been laid off, with no one to say goodbye to, must have walked directly out without bothering to pack his things or shut down the computer, which has been on ever since.

I close the window and find another. Just an impersonal message from inventory control. Then another. And another. That's not all. I notice a small stack of unopened interoffice letters piled on the desk. Useless memos I'm sure, same as the IMs. But why was he still on the mailing list? And why were they bothering to leave letters on the desk of a man who no longer existed--never existed, if his former neighbors are to be believed? At least whoever left the letters believed he existed. And they too were mistaken.

On closer inspection, he didn't leave behind anything of value. Just a mess of variously colored sticky notes, some pens and pencils, and a miniature trashcan with a bird-shaped stitch cover. But one note catches my eye. "Happy Birthday!" it says, followed by a smiley face and with a heart dotting the letter "i." A strange note for a man to leave himself. But don't we all like to pretend, now and again? Or maybe I was wrong about him.

If I compare the personality of his desk to that of mine, then really the story of the invisible man would more appropriately be my own. Like I said, I keep nothing at my desk but the tools the company gave me to work with. Zero personal items with which to identify me. But I'm the one that exists.

Who knows? At this point, I'm done looking for answers I don't really care about. I hastily stuff all his junk into his cabinet or on top of his chair, then wheel both off to the side, so I can slide my own chair and cabinet into what is now my desk. I neither know nor care what will happen to his things. Perhaps someone will notice them sitting against the wall, then try to find their owner to see why he left them there.

Wii Shoes Scoop?

While driving to work this morning, I happened to catch part of a radio interview with Jillian Michaels, known for being one of the trainers on the weight loss reality show "The Biggest Loser." Last year, she also released with Majesco a Wii video game, Jillian Michaels' Fitness Ultimatum 2009, a fitness title that used the Wii Balance Board.

In this morning's interview, she noted her concerns during development that the peripheral actually limited the workout potential, since it is apparently not possible to jump and run well on the board. She then claimed that an unspecified "they" were busy "creating a technology where you will have the Wii Fit sensors in your shoes." She described it as "really cool" and "hopefully the next incarnation of the Wii Fit technology," which she intends to utilize for the 2010 edition of her game.

You can hear it for yourself here (listed as "7am-3rd Break - Jillian Michaels interview"; relevant talk begins about six minutes in). It's not clear who or what she's talking about, or if she really knows anything at all, so make of it what you will.

The Essentials #10: ICO

Released in 2001, Sony Computer Entertainment's ICO may have been the PlayStation 2's first must-play title. Designed by Fumito Ueda, who emerged seemingly out of nowhere to become one of the PlayStation brand's greatest assets, the game was ostensibly a 3-D platformer with puzzle elements, but its brilliant artistic direction and groundbreaking design transcended any genre designation.

Players took control of Ico, the titular young boy with horns, who, at the tale's beginning, finds himself escorted, a prisoner, to an isolated fortress, where faceless horsemen seal him in a crypt, apparently as a sacrifice. Through a mixture of sheer will and panic, Ico manages to break out of the crypt, only to find himself completely alone in the abandoned and alien structure. The game hands control to the player at this point, and, lost and confused as Ico himself is, the player wanders directionless before happening upon the sight of a beautiful girl trapped in a cage.

The girl's name is Yorda, and, though herself a prisoner, the ethereal maiden shines like a beacon of hope to the young boy, who does not hesitate in freeing her from her cage. He attempts to communicate with her, but finds that she speaks a language completely foreign to him. Her mournful expression, however, conveys a longing for the life that they have both been heretofore denied. And so he takes her hand in a gesture that transcends any dialogue, ultimately defining both the characters' bond and the title itself. Thus begins the pair's unlikely quest for freedom.


That was the premise for ICO, and that singular objective would drive the game from beginning to end. Taking command of Ico, and leading Yorda by the hand, the player would navigate the labyrinthine fortress, one room at a time, improvising paths as necessary on the journey to escape for the both of them, while fending off the ominous shadow creatures that would periodically emerge to try and abduct Yorda.

There was actually far more plot in the instruction manual than in the game itself, which would tell the player almost nothing through its roughly five hours of play. But ICO was a minimalist experience by design, and the less-is-more approach served to make it one of the most immersive video games ever. The limited dialogue invited players to construct their own narratives out of the bits and pieces of story suggested by the ancient and extravagant architecture. Featuring little in the way of actual music, the ambient soundtrack captured all the subtleties of the breeze and the birds. There was no heads-up display, but the game was not hiding any information, because Ico had no health meter and could only die by falling from a great height.

ICO's single greatest achievement may have been Yorda herself. She was not the first AI companion in a video game. She certainly wasn't the most helpful; some of the puzzles required her assistance, but it was more often the case that the puzzle itself would lie in trying to transport her past an obstacle that she could not physically surmount as easily as the more athletic Ico. She perhaps did not have as much in the way of personality as other characters; she didn't say or do much, after all. But no video game character before her ever seemed so convincingly alive. As with the narrative, precisely because Yorda was such a mystery, it was very easy to project a backstory and personality onto her. That is not to say that Yorda was devoid of character. In one of gaming's most nearly perfect moments, Yorda, eying a peaceful courtyard, races ahead of Ico with surprising energy. As she then wanders by herself, marveling at her surroundings, one might pause to observe her subtle hand gestures, the tilt of her head as she takes in the scenery, and her tendency to follow stray birds.


But, more than anything, what gave Yorda life was the relationship that the game silently forced the player to develop with her. Gaming is perhaps at its best when the game manipulates the player, rather than the other way around, and, in that regard, ICO was a masterwork. While most games before and after featured gameplay based around engaging our violent tendencies as human beings, ICO tapped into a different instinct: the instinct to protect. When the shadow creatures attacked, just as Ico did not hesitate in freeing Yorda, neither would the player hesitate to rush to the defense of this mysterious girl, about whom the player knew virtually nothing. There was no visceral thrill to be derived from the fighting itself. Combat was clumsy and limited. Rather, each encounter with the enemy was a desperate struggle to defend Yorda against those who would seek to abduct her. And, each time you managed to stave them off, it was a tremendous relief, and you hoped that they would not trouble her again--a far cry from other games, where combat would be the entire point.

While ICO was surely a title worthy of being described as a work of art, that did not make it any less a game, and the puzzle and platforming mechanics deserved high praise. The solution to every puzzle was readily visible in the form of a nearby lever, bomb, or movable cube. It would then be just a matter of managing the somewhat awkward physics to achieve the goal. For players who preferred to be challenged, ICO may have been on the easy side, but the game was designed to push ordinary players without ever frustrating them to the point of giving up and resorting to outside assistance. While it would have been impossible to balance the game for players of all levels, I found it to be just right. Many of the puzzles were also multi-part affairs, but could be approached one step at a time, allowing them to be complex without being convoluted. Even if it wasn't extraordinarily challenging, I still managed to derive great satisfaction each time from seeing it all come together, knowing that I did it on my own.

ICO was released in North America first, and it may have been rushed to market to beat heavy hitters like Devil May Cry, Grand Theft Auto III, Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty, and Final Fantasy X, as well as the launches of the GameCube and Xbox, all of which came out later that same year. The North American edition was not only afflicted with godawful cover art, as opposed to the Japanese and European editions' quaintly surreal art drawn by Ueda himself, it also lacked all of the unlockable features that were added into those releases. Among these additions were an alternate gag ending, a hidden lightsaber weapon, translated subtitles for Yorda, and the option for a second player to control Yorda. Some nifty bonuses there, but none of them essential, and I actually have mixed feelings about those last two.

While I'll admit to being curious about what Yorda was actually saying throughout the game, it was obviously a very deliberate design choice to not translate her dialogue in the first place, and I would say that that decision was correct and highly successful, as it kept the relationship centered around the hand-holding, rather than any speech that the player would be unable to engage in.

As for the multiplayer mode, first of all, I can't imagine the game would be much fun for the second player, who would have basically no abilities and be extremely reliant upon the player controlling Ico. Also, the game would still have to focus first on Ico, and there would be many occasions where Yorda wouldn't even be able to follow him into the immediate area. More importantly, the bond that the player forms with the AI Yorda was one of the most fundamental aspects of the experience. Having a second player take control of Yorda would completely alter that dynamic, and, while having a human partner without the constant need for direction would likely make things proceed more quickly, it would also make for a far less remarkable experience, hence why I insist that two players is not always better than one.

ICO was not a perfect game. The controls were jerky, the AI-controlled camera not always helpful, and the game's heavy use of bloom lighting, though striking, could be tiring on the eyes after extended sessions. But it was one of the first great games of its generation, and it remains one of the greatest testaments to the emotional power of video games. There have been few films or novels that have managed to make me value so deeply the life of a fictional character, and the interactive dimension of the medium was an essential component in forming that relationship.