I hate final bosses

Hydrophobia: Prophecy is the most mundane game I've played in a long time. The water physics are impressive, but not utilised in interesting ways. I was expecting more sophisticated physics puzzles based on manipulating water flow. At the very least, I wanted to feel like water was something to be afraid of. When I first heard about the concept I imagined Hydrophobia would seem cold, dark and dangerous. Survival horror where you stay just one step ahead of being submerged or swept away.

It's nothing like that, of course. It's mostly a game about shooting exploding barrels and scanning for invisible-ink graffiti. It's full of grey corridors, cult-crazed soldiers, and crystal clear water sloshing from room to room. The main character is an inhumanly strong swimmer, and water is a handy tool more than it's a hindrance. There is absolutely no sense of fear.

It's emotionally disappointing, but I didn't think Hydrophobia: Prophecy was completely terrible. Generic, sure, but possibly still worth a playthrough. At least, that's what I thought until I reached the final boss. Now I think it's a piece of shit and I'm ashamed to have wasted my time on it.

I say final boss, but in Hydrophobia: Prophecy's case it's actually the only boss. That's naturally going to make it very difficult for the boss encounter to feel integrated and in keeping with the tone of the rest of the game. I gather the previous version of Hydrophobia had a more abrupt ending, so the tacked-on feeling is unsurprising. Is a clunky boss fight really the only solution they could come up with to create a more dramatic ending?

Hydrophobia: Prophecy's boss fight isn't particularly challenging, but it doesn't build on the game that came before it. Up until that point I'd been getting away with using default sonic ammo for everything, and suddenly I was required to use specialised ammunition to stun the boss. It also requires powers only acquired in the final few rooms of the game. You gain the ability to raise a column of water and use it to lift and throw objects. The controls are awful, by the way.

The boss fight made all the difference in how I view the creation as a whole. A game with potential became an unforgivably flawed yawnfest. Admittedly, Hydrophobia: Prophecy already had me on the tipping point between neutrality and dislike. I probably wouldn't have played it all the way through if I didn't have a particular interest in game design – it's a good case study in creative strengths and weaknesses. It's probably best played by game design students, critics, and anyone with a water physics fetish.

Still, resenting final boss fights (or boss fights in general) isn't exactly a new experience for me. Fine if the game's built around them, but too often bosses become cheesy barriers I have to force my way through to get back to the game elements I'm enjoying. And having that final boss hurdle to finish the game often leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

The worst offender I've experienced is Beyond Good & Evil. It's been long enough to get some distance from it, so now I can focus what I enjoyed about the game. It's all about that feeling of sneaking into a heavily guarded facility, snapping some incriminating photographs, and getting out again. Jade will fight when she has to, but she's a journalist not a warrior and the game plays to that. I wasn't required to take down soldiers head-on until almost the very end of the game.

But, Beyond Good & Evil does follow the standard model of ending sections with boss fights so of course we were always going to conclude with a dramatic battle. And it's a hell of a fight. It's divided into something like six phases, but feels like more. To be fair, the phases do build on each other with earlier segments obviously designed as training for the more difficult phases. It makes perfect sense on paper, but it's tedious to play through. The major gimmick involves phases with reversed controls, which is just annoying. The final blow brought relief instead of triumph, and I was extremely happy to put the disc away and not touch it again. A drawn-out battle didn't do Beyond Good & Evil justice, and was an unfortunate final impression of the game.

I have one more boss fight I want to write about, and it's from Shank. I didn't quite reach the end of Shank myself but I helped someone out with the strategy on this one and it was an interesting bit of research.

The boss fights in Shank are pretty standard: find an opening and exploit it for massive damage. There are hints, and it doesn't usually take too much working out. Until you reach the final encounter against Cesar, and suddenly there doesn't seem to be a weakness. He's very similar to one of the earlier bosses, so we are encouraged into a familiar pattern of dodging and counter-attacking. But he's much tougher and recovers quickly. Most players probably fought him by gradually chipping away at his health bar.

Cesar does actually have a weakness, but it's not intuitive or easily stumbled upon. It requires you to counter attack followed by a grapple, causing Shank to perform a piledriver knocking off 25% of his health in one hit.

It sounds simple enough, and it is, but there's a serious problem here. Very early in the game we learn that we can't grapple bosses, or indeed any enemy larger than Shank himself. Worse still, by this point the button to grapple is instead being used for a heavy katana attack. So, to work out the trick for yourself means remembering a move you probably haven't used all game, thinking it might be useful in a situation where it previously failed, and unequipping one of your powerful weapons.

(Note: I'm talking from a console perspective, I assume the more recent PC version doesn't have the keybinding issues.)

I don't believe in having rules of good game design. I could think of places where this kind of thing might work. For example, the Monster Hunter games have such a co-operative community surrounding them that researching and learning from other hunters on forums and YouTube is practically part of the game. Alternately, if a game set out to unsettle the player there might be reason to change the rules and keep them on their toes. But Shank has no such excuse. The Cesar fight fails with its gimmick, to the extent that at the time it took several pages of Google results to find the answer. Shank's designers probably weren't trying to appeal to nerdy researchers like me who get a kick out of digging up information.

Boss fights work when they fit the vibe and mechanics of the game as a whole. Final impressions really do matter.

Introductory Souls

In Dark Souls and Demon's Souls stories emerge naturally from the environment, or from scattered information. It's a puzzle with many pieces missing, but there's enough information to see the basic image. Occasionally, a small revelation will make me smile or gasp. A few lines of dialogue have more impact than I've seen in half-hour cutscenes elsewhere.

The Souls games are beautiful examples of organic and restrained storytelling. There's room to discover my own sense of the world, but still plenty of scripted elements. Finding information in a natural way lets me feel the story instead of just understand it.

The stories I find suggest there's something more than just this. These places have history, but I can only guess most of it. As I engage more deeply with the environment every wretched enemy and abandoned set of armour seems to have reason behind it. I can never know most of their stories, but they hint at who was here before. My own story could end too, quietly swallowed by the diseased swamp or incarcerated and left to rot.

Unearthing so many tiny pieces of information takes patience and dedication. Initially, all there is to go in is a crappy introductory cinematic. And some description from the manual, I suppose (yes, I still read them).

The introductory cutscenes are one of the weakest parts of the series. They're info-dumps, with pretentious narration and too much name-dropping. It's a terrible way to introduce newcomers, and quickly forgotten. The tutorials set the scene better, or at least make a more lasting impression.

The Demon's Souls tutorial is about hopelessness. There's the opportunity to learn basic controls without too much danger, but it's primarily about being killed and left severely weakened. It's a primer on how to feel, not just how to play.

Dark Souls' tutorial feels more like a miniature level. It demonstrates exactly what these games require to succeed. Initially the Asylum Demon seems like an impossible threat, but the odds can be changed by gathering better equipment and paying attention to the environment. It's a lesson in when and how to pick your battles.

As a mechanical tutorial this works perfectly, but it completely changes the emotions involved. Where Demon's Souls made me feel helpless, Dark Souls made me feel like an arsehole. Essentially, I beat up some asylum inmates, many of whom were too weak to fight back, then hacked through the guard in a couple of axe swings.

I have the advantage of experience, but even if I'd found this difficult, a challenge designed to be overcome is a more powerful beginning than a challenge you're expected to fail.

My Demon's Souls character was a hero caught in a really shitty situation. Her freedom was taken from her, and there's no real way to escape that once the cycle begins. Dark Souls has similar themes, but (at least on initial impressions) it's about slowly crawling out of hell instead of being pushed into it. My Dark Souls character is a wretched creature scavenging scraps of power and becoming a chosen one. Not the chosen one, mind, but there's more sense of being someone special. It frames my failures and successes in terms of destiny instead of circumstance.

It's an unfortunate shift of perspective. I have countless games I can play if I want to feel powerful and important, and it's not what I'm looking for here. I hope the broader storytelling will set things right (where right in this case is probably rather hideous), but in the meantime I feel more like a typical RPG protagonist than I expected. Even if I am an arsehole about it.

What do you play?

It probably shouldn't surprise me when someone asks about the sorts of games I like to play, but the question stalls me.  Not because I'm the least bit uncomfortable about my game-habits, but because it's a surprisingly complicated question.

I can talk about genre labels, but they tend to be both broad and fuzzy.  And honestly, I do play a lot of different games.  I'm tempted to use the word eclectic, but I'm pretty sure there's only one hentai game in my back catalogue so surely I can't be all that eclectic.  Something to work on, maybe.

If you've asked me about the games I play you probably would have been happy with a simple answer.  "Mainly wRPG and action-adventure", perhaps.  Maybe I could list some favourites.  Accurate, as far as it goes, but I often prefer to discuss the genre overlaps and difficult-to-classify oddities.

I'm tempted to bend the truth in some cases.  I love survival horror, but I'm a soft touch (with games anyway, horror movies are fine) so they take me a long time.  Sometimes I watch someone else play instead.  Survival horror's a genre I love, but telling people I play survival horror is a bit of a stretch.  I'm working on it.

What I'm really trying to get to here is why do I play the games I play?  I don't always know, and it varies a lot for each game.  I don't always play games because I like them, either.  It's also a matter of whether they are important or interesting enough, although of course I can't play everything.

I think I've just reached my answer.  I play games that make me feel something and/or have something to teach me.  To understand what that means you probably need to know me better.

That would sound like a terrible pick up line if I used it in a pub.

Game Lettering: Tale of Tales

[Spoiler warning for FATALE, although I'm not sure FATALE spoilers count, really.]

Indie developer Tale of Tales tend to polarise opinion, but I have a crush on their work.  One of the things I appreciate is their use of lettering as an art form.


The logo for The Path was hand-crafted by Marian Bantjes.  She's a famous typographer and graphic designer, the kind who wins awards and attracts labels like 'innovative'.  It was a commission borne out of a desire to work with gifted artists, not expediency.  A small thing in the scheme of game development, but rather beautiful.

In The Path written words provide the only distinct messages for players to latch onto.  As each version of Red Riding Hood explores the forest important places and objects trigger messages, scrawled across the screen.  The text is an important anchor to ground the experience, and understand each girl's character and experiences.  Feeling a little bit lost in the forest is appropriate, but we don't want to float away completely.


The lettering style in these scenes is simple.  With a hint of childlike nature, but not offensively so.  The same style is used for each girl, from nine-year-old Robin to nineteen-year-old Scarlet.  (Tangent: 19 is way too old to be called a 'girl' really, but since The Path is about growing up I'll stick with it as a term for the group)

The content changes meaningfully for each sister, but the lettering itself doesn't.  I think that's a lost opportunity, but maybe I'm going too far.  The lettering style suits The Path, but unfortunately creates legibility problems.  The yellow text is fine in the darker sections, but disappears into the background when you stumble into a golden field.

I wish I didn't have to make that complaint because The Path is otherwise so enticing.  I don't enjoy attacking the weak points where beauty breaks down, but I can't help but notice them.  Part of me wants to call it deliberate, as the screen becomes busy with of scratched layers and pictograms.  Maybe something things are meant to be difficult or missed.  But I'm reaching.

(Previous messages can be accessed via a menu, where the scene background can't interfere, but they just don't feel the same.  I want my environmental context.)

The Path is a spiritual experience for me, but FATALE is the Tale of Tales game that really made me want to discuss its letters.  For the unfamiliar, FATALE is an "interactive vignette" based on Oscar Wilde's Salome.


I write FATALE in capital letters for a reason, considering the first-century setting and traditional Roman capitals as a starting point (Using lamda to replace A in the logo is just a modern style thing, mind).  Within the game, though, the letters are slightly less formal.

The first scene casts you as John the Baptist, locked in a cell with little to do but wait for the executioner to come and claim your head.  If you find the right angle you can catch a glimpse of Salome dancing through the grate above.  Mostly, though, it's about the lettering.  As you wander about the cell words from the play appear.  You can view the letters from different angles, or even walk right through those hanging in mid-air.



That's just beautiful.  It could be copping out to include the text in such a literal, direct way, but my inner Calligrapher was fascinated.  I wonder why these letters in particular.  I could say some things about this, such as the old-fashioned look of writing in all capitals, but mostly I'm guessing at the intention behind these letterforms.

I'm over-thinking it, of course, but it's not often I get this kind of opportunity. To study the way the tail-end of the G overlaps the line below, and similar details that suggest handwriting (or the desire to emulate handwriting). There's care here, even if in some cases the arrangement of a block of writing isn't perfect.

I had a wonderful time studying the letters in John the Baptist's cell, which probably wasn't quite the intended experience. At least the executioner arriving didn't lose its impact or inevitability.

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