“We realize people do not care about the size of these boxes, they hide them anyway. So we made a cube.” – The Verge’s Ross Miller (from a live recap immediately following Sony’s Playstation 4 announcement)
Miller may have been playing the role of a Sony executive in the above joke, and maybe Sony executives have actually said something like it behind closed doors. Either way, they’d both be right.
We don’t often associate the word “computer” with the word “easy”, as easy as “a cube” makes it sound. Companies like Apple, Google, and even Microsoft now are spending most of their marketing and design budgets trying to remedy this stigma (and sometimes go too far). Meanwhile, boxes that were built to be more straightforward (video game consoles, for example) have been doing the opposite, spending the past decade-and-a-half adding features that first appeared on traditional computers: disc-based drives, the internet, buddy lists, digital markets, social networks, YouTube, etc.
Every other hardware developer may be going in the opposite direction of their competitors, but their compasses will eventually lead them all to the same place.
All my friends play video games,
and one of them joined me to talk about Kentucky Route Zero.
I’ve already written a post about Cardboard Computer’s debut of their new game, but this one calls for conversation. Today’s episode introduces the game and its unique design, artistic influences, ability to tell a story and connections to theatre & film. Kentucky Route Zero may be a haunting single-player experience, but it’s ripe for sharing.
My sole guest on this episode is Hilary Bovay, a talented artist & photographer based out of Rhode Island. She’s got a keen eye for visual storytelling, and her love for the original Crash Bandicoot is all you’ll ever need to know about her taste in video games.
Last night I picked up and finished Act I of Kentucky Route Zero by Cardboard Computer, and just about every inch of its design satisfies my current appetite in video games.
Aesthetically, it’s a stunning game that reminds me of the stylistic work seen in both Team Fortress 2 and Limbo. It utilizes sharp lighting, silhouettes and limited color palettes to tell most of the story, while exaggerated geometry adds even more character to its society. It also manages to reference other forms of art, such as poetry and theatre, without interrupting itself as a game. Continue reading →
One of the conversations my generation seems most ready to have is what they’d do in the event of a zombie apocalypse:
Whose house doubles as a good fort?
Which local store would have the best stockpile?
Whose car gets away the fastest?
What kind of weapons could we make from what’s sitting in the garage?
Who would you band with, and where would you all rendezvous?
It’s a fun game to play, partly because there are no right or wrong answers, but mostly because you get to learn something new about the people around you. The Walking Dead runs with these sorts of questions while putting the safety of others in the mix, making each subsequent one more complicated than the last. It tells an excellent story about people you could relate to, and not just for being a game.
Or at least there are signs of it. Across the river are what use to be people’s homes – homes that are now used to avoid thug infested alleys and a corrupt police force running the suburbs. You can even find paintings on what walls are still standing, mostly of people filling the streets of Dunwall or ships importing goods.
It’s calming though, isn’t it? I’d often climb up here for the view between missions, but every vista in Dunwall is just that: a vista. The city is actually overrun with a rat plague. Looks can be deceiving.
The amount of time you invest in Torchlight II is directly proportional to what you get out of it. Spend part of it exploring the landscape and you will find something worth your curiosity. A band of soldiers surviving together in the wilderness. A ghost ship docks by the riverside. A lonely robot who’s just happy that you didn’t rob him.
The hook of Torchlight II is partly within your curiosity.
From a young age, I’ve always understood video games as an intersection between visuals and sound. Things run around on the screen until they run into something else, setting off some kind of alarm. It might be rewarding, penalizing, or warning you, but there is no denying its hidden rhythm. Somewhere between platforming, abstract art, content creation and music composition, Sound Shapes is a budding intersection between multiple forms of media as well. Continue reading →