Game Analysis, Part 2: America’s Army

Posted: February 12, 2012 in Gaming
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(Continued from Part 1)

Creating a Compelling Game

1. Game Engine: Utilizing Existing Hardcore Tech

Where America’s Army meets these demanding criteria first comes with the underlying game engine the developers licensed. The Unreal game engine offers a solid foundation upon which the designers have created an experience with at least baseline comparable graphics and gameplay to similar titles that also make use of this engine. It is a known standard for quality games, and accepted as such by gamers, including hardcore gamers. Just as importantly, as America’s Army has been released iteratively, it has done so using later versions of the Unreal engine (America’s Army 3.2 runs off of Unreal Engine 3, used in such venerated titles as Batman: Arkham Asylum, Mass Effect, and Gears of War).

The only drawback to this for me (and other potential players) was experiencing the game as a more casual player. Developing the game for a hardcore audience with a sophisticated engine can tax a user’s hardware/connectivity. More than once, I had difficulty launching the game, even with a dedicated corporate internet connection (so yes, I was playing the game at work!).

If the target demographic includes hardcore gamers, developing America’s Army using the standard for hardcore game engines—and keeping the game current to that engine­—has been essential part of its success.

2. Gameplay: Recreating the Military Experience

Along with an accomplished game engine, the next criterion for developers was in generating compelling gameplay. The emphasis for America’s Army has largely been to simulate the military experience as closely as possible. The opening cut scene is nothing so dramatic as a recruiting class simply making their pledge to the Armed Forces; the game menu also features a lobby resembling a standard military recruiting station.

Players are then sent through an introductory tutorial that teaches the basic mechanics of gameplay through the setting of boot camp. Here, the distinction between America’s Army as a game versus marketing tool imminently becomes clear. In many games, the tutorial is meant to be a fairly quick experience. Most players view them as a necessary chore; for game designers, the goal is likewise to get players into the actual gameplay as quickly (but as knowledgeably) as possible.

In America’s Army, however, the tutorial is not just to provide instruction on playing the game, but also to illustrate the experience of an actual boot camp. Instead of a quick overview to speed through, the tutorial is structured into the identical 9-week program of U.S. Army Basic Training (including its location inFort Jackson,South   Carolina). The tutorial even includes activities completely irrelevant to gameplay, but that are necessary (albeit unglamorous) components of a realistic boot camp—such as having one’s head shaved and learning the proper upkeep for barracks.

There was, I initially felt, an extremely high risk to this strategy. Just as hardcore gamers would be turned off by a sub par game engine, I estimated that they would likewise have been turned off by fairly dull, if realistic, initial gameplay experience—at least, as first presented in the tutorial. After all, do gamers choose war games for the realistic depiction of life as a soldier? Or for an exciting, glamorized depiction of life as a soldier?

America’s Army chose to adopt the strategy of an extremely realistic presentation of military life, and once the game proceeds from training to actual missions, the hardcore gamer is satisfied with having endured the glacially slow start—more than satisfied, in fact. A look at the host of awards won by America’s Army through its various iterations include Best Multiplayer Game, Best Game of E3, Surprise Game of the Year—and even Guinness record for most downloaded war game.

Note: As an anecdote of realistic versus glamorized tutorials, the Adam Corolla podcast ran a discussion about the experiences of the host attempting to play through Call of Duty: World at War (a WWII first-person shooter). The game starts with the player in the role of a sailor onboard a ship under attack; the tutorial is meant to guide the player through the basics of gameplay through the immersive experience of getting topside and manning an anti-aircraft gun.

As a non-gamer, Adam had a hard enough time getting a handle of the controls—so much so, that he couldn’t even manage to get topside, but found himself trapped below deck. That was the beginning and end of the game for him. Although more a critique of difficult tutorials (America’s Army simplifies things, asking players to learn the controls by navigating an obstacle course), it also shows that hardcore gamers have come to expect an immersive experience right from a game’s medias res opening. America’s Army, while aimed at a hardcore demographic, nevertheless offers more of a casual tutorial experience—and a thoroughly lengthy one at that.

3. Accomplishments: Comparing Yourself to the Military

America’s Army adherence to a realistic depiction of military life in its training and missions essentially sets it apart from similar (and superior) first-person shooters. The game engine is of known quality, and the gameplay compelling enough for a tactical shooter. The advantage for America’s Army, by creating a realistic military experience, is that the sense of in-game accomplishment is meant to be relatable to actual military service.

As a recruitment tool geared to hardcore gamers, America’s Army seeks to immerse players in military experience, and then allow them compete within that experience. Awards earned through completing missions, for example, are pegged to actual military ranks (e.g., E-1 as a new recruit, up to E-9 as sergeant major). By creating a realistic military experience, with training and advancement corresponding to actual military service, the overall impression the game attempts to convey is that of what gamers (already competitive by nature) would accomplish if actively enlisted.

Furthering connecting the game to the actual military, the in-game menu prominently links to Go Army, the official U.S. Army website. The game website itself links to Real Heroes, which presents actual soldiers writing about their military challenges and accomplishments, with such evocative taglines as “I will never quit,” “I will never leave a fallen comrade behind,” and “I will always place the mission first.” Again, the connection presented is, now that you’ve played the game wouldn’t you like to be challenged and recognized as an actual soldier as well?

And this is the bridge that America’s Army is ultimately attempting to make, in my opinion. The game provides a safe, but realistic version of the military. The goal is to entice players to seek out the actual version, by appealing to their interests and sense of challenge.

4. Giving Away the Game

Finally, this is a briefly mentioned but incredibly effective component of their marketing strategy. America’s Army is simply given away for free, allowing a wider distribution than if it were attempting to compete in the marketplace against superior games.

(Continued in Part 3)

Game Analysis, Part 1: America’s Army

Posted: February 12, 2012 in Gaming
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The following was submitted to my communications class; rather lengthy for a blog, so I’ll break it up into various parts here.

There’s an obvious trick behind America’s Army. The U.S. Military (U.S. Army specifically, in the role of “publisher”) is not trying to be particularly secretive, but the trick is fairly fundamental to the game.

And that is, the intrinsic purpose behind America’s Army is not to function as a game. Any number of military-themed games already accomplish this (and far more successfully; Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3 broke all previous sales records [1], earning $775 million in its first five days). The gameplay is merely a means to an end—that of marketing the military to potential recruits. Of course, its stated goal is less overt. America’s Army claims to offer a positive view of the military, but I would argue that its understated goal—of offering a positive view of the military in order to advance recruitment—is really the driving force behind the game.

I don’t believe this is not an especially cynical viewpoint (any more than I believe Cheerios commercials are meant to sell breakfast cereal, not promote a healthy diet), nor is meant to be (I come from a military family). Some critics [2], however, have derided the use of games to promote the military, considering it as inappropriately targeting minors, and that the sterile depiction of warfare ignores its harsh psychological effects. In Raph Koster’s A Theory of Fun, he even writes of ‘ex-military persons decrying first-person shooters as “murder simulators’” [3]. Advocates (myself included) might counter that the game simply targets its recruiting demographic using the best platform to reach that demographic; and in the following paper, I look to examine the game’s corresponding goals, gameplay, and results.

Overview

America’s Army plays as a first-person tactical shooter. You take on the role of a soldier, playing through basic training and then move on to real-life missions. Essentially, the game is meant to simulate the experience of being an actual soldier in a modern military unit.

Marketing: Using Games to Reach Recruits

Regardless of the moral implications of marketing through video games, there is an undeniable logic for the U.S. Military taking this approach. Recruitment is a constant challenge. While servicemen and women are universally held in high regard in popular culture, enlistment is not encouraged. (Unless it’s enlistment for WWII; Captain America was the last time I can recall signing up for the military being depicted as a desirable undertaking.) Recruiters struggle to even be allowed on many campuses, and it’s a rare youth that already has it in mind to visit their local recruiting center. So at a time when unpopular, polarizing conflicts are still very much underway, joining the military can be a fantastically tough argument for recruiters to make—especially when there are difficulties even approaching potential recruits.

As such, reaching potential recruits through alternate means has become a necessity. As reflected in recent ad campaigns, the U.S. Military’s goals seem less to glamorize military life so much as associate it with activities favorable to its target recruiting demographic; for example, by broadly sponsoring key sporting events, especially the NFL and MMA fighting. Act of Valor, an upcoming film, is marketed as using actual soldiers in its roles (for a movie I predict to be undoubtedly realistic, but far more supportive of military life and operations than, say, The Hurt Locker).

The same marketing strategy has also been to use games like America’s Army to showcase the military using a suitable venue that better reaches its target audience. Using video games for recruitment has an obvious connection; the target demographic for new recruits also coincides with the traditional demographic of hardcore gamers—primarily, young men (ages 18-24).

Nevertheless, these particular gamers are choosey if not already outright jaded. Hardcore games require no small commitment of time, and there is no shortage of contenders for their attention in the marketplace, especially with military first-person and tactical shooters. For America’s Army to succeed as a marketing tool, to capture any interest, it would have to be thoroughly appealing to this knowledgeable, highly selective audience. Creating any game with sufficient appeal to hardcore gamers is challenging enough, but with no small distrust of the military during unpopular conflicts, a game would have to absolutely excel in order to succeed at drawing in players.

So how does America’s Army approach this daunting task? (Continued in Part 2.)

Hugo: Rewritten

Posted: January 30, 2012 in General, Stories
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It’s Oscar season—and since most Oscar-bait is released as far into the year as possible, that means we’ve been trying to catch up on our movie watching around here.

This weekend, it was Hugo.

Very briefly, the movie involves the titular Hugo, orphaned son of a clockmaker who haunts a Parisian train station. While evading the station inspector, Hugo tries to both fix an automaton that he believes contains a message from his father, and resolve the mystery of a tragic toymaker.

There’s quite a fair amount I did like about Hugo. Although not a fan of child actors, the roles of Hugo and Isabelle were played likeably enough; add to that Ben Kingsley as Georges Méliès, and Sacha Baron Cohen as the station inspector. And although not a fan of 3D movies (which seem novelty money-grabs more than anything else), Hugo actually does make good use of the medium. The visuals of 1930’sParis are beautiful. And the bouquets thrown to movies and moviemaking in general are heartfelt.

That’s to start with positives. There were multiple scenes that, taken individually, entertained. My problem was the unfolding of the story itself. As a whole, it really faltered.

Hugo is based on “The Invention of Hugo Cabret,” a book I have not read, and so I don’t know if the story was constructed differently in print. However, here’s what I would have suggested with it:

As told…
Hugo’s father is a clockmaker. When he dies tragically, Hugo is taken in by a sodden uncle who manages the clocks of a train station. When the uncle disappears, and later ends up dead, Hugo is left to fend for himself and keep the station’s clocks running.

In a suggested revision…
There’s no reason to have both father and uncle. The father should have been the clockmaker who also managed the train station. When he died, Hugo is left on his own.

As told…
Hugo’s notebook is taken from him by Georges Méliès, a toy seller. Méliès threatens to burn it, but relents if Hugo works for him and shows promise. Hugo needs the notebook to fix the automaton—yet however important this device, the notebook is later ignored. Hugo fixes the automaton regardless. For whatever reason, Hugo even stops working for Méliès due to some falling out.

These elements are really a mess.

In a suggested revision…
Hugo ends up working for Méliès, but only further along (so as not to remove the earlier danger of the station inspector and being sent to an orphanage) after learning Méliès was once a filmmaker. He earns back the notebook, and uses it to fix the automaton.

As told…
An academic who has devoted his entire life to studying Méliès’s career as a filmmaker, isn’t aware that Méliès is even still alive. This made absolutely no sense; Méliès was never trying to hide his identity, and an academic writing about his life would have fairly easily tracked him down.

In a suggested revision…
Méliès is not mistaken for dead. After his films were no longer in vogue, he simply went into a J.D. Salinger-like exile. No one knows where he is. Eventually Hugo discovers that the humble toy seller is actually Méliès, the innovative filmmaker, and tension arises when Méliès demands to be left in obscurity because nobody cares for his movies anymore.

As told…
Hugo fixes the automation, which draws him a picture of a movie his father told him about (A Trip to the Moon), and so he thinks it’s a message from his father. This is the emotional climax of the entire goddamn movie, and it comes about halfway in! Afterwards, Hugo then tries to revive the spirits of Méliès, and brings him the automaton to show that his life wasn’t pointless. Oh, did I mention that Méliès also invented the automaton? (This felt about as forced as learning Anakin Skywalker constructed C-3P0.) He was a magician, then filmmaker, then ended up in obscure retirement as a train station toymaker—and yes, this is all based on the actual, incredible life of Georges Méliès—but the added element of this automaton was just too much.

In a suggested revision…
Méliès never invented the automaton. We never learn who did; it’s a mystery. The automaton is an ancient wonder. At the end of the movie, Hugo finally fixes it; but instead of the climatic sequences of rescuing the automaton from the train tracks, it should be a miraculous discovery of the missing key that finally brings the completed automaton to life.

As it’s brought to life, the automaton draws its wondrous picture of the rocket to the moon as the final scene; it is Méliès’s movie, which brings him a measure of validation, and a seeming message from Hugo’s father, which brings him a measure of peace.

A Tale of Two Books

Posted: January 22, 2012 in Stories
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I’m currently in the middle of two books (48% into Iain M. Banks’ Transition, and page 90 of Suzanne Collins’ Hunger Games). Usually this happens when I start a book, but it fails to catch enough of my interest that I drift over to something else. Life is too short to finish a bad book, after all.

And between these two, I’ve noticed one crucial aspect about why Transition is getting put down more quickly, and Hunger Games picked up (aside from the fact that my wife devoured the Hungers Games trilogy and wants to discuss them with me especially before the movie comes out).

A brief introduction of Hunger Games, if you haven’t devoured them already yourself: it’s the story of a girl chosen by lottery to participate in a televised death-match. Kind of like The Running Man or The Long Walk (Stephen King’s short stories), also set in a bleak, futuristic America. And as such, I’m trying to trick my wife into watching The Running Man with me.

Hunger Games is marketed as a young adult novel, part of which means having a younger protagonist, presumably that the target audience can more easily relate to. It also means having a more straightforward narrative. Not so straightforward as in a “this happened, then this happened, then this happened” sort of way—more of a “this happened, then this happened (which reminded me of something in my past), then this happened (which makes me suspect something in the future). And, it turns out, this makes for easier reading.

(As an aside, part of the undeniable appeal of Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code, at least for me, was its narrative structure. There were essentially two narratives going on at the same time, one with the protagonist (A), and one with the antagonist (B). Each short chapter concerned one of these narratives, and then ended on a mini-cliffhanger. You had to read through the next chapter to find out what happened at the end of the chapter before that… at which point, you then had to read through that chapter to find out what happened at the end of the one before that, and so on. A-B-A-B-A-B, all the way through. It worked… one thing that didn’t, though, was the cardinal sin of having the main character look in a mirror so that he can be physically described to the audience.)

The opposite is true with Iain Banks. If you aren’t familiar with his novels, he’s the writer of sci-fi “Culture” novels (as Iain M. Banks, somewhat confusingly), and other fictional works (as Iain Banks). He is prolific. And (perhaps because of that, perhaps growing bored with a straightforward narrative style) he is experimental.

In some case, this works wonderfully. The Wasp Factory (1984) tells the story of a deranged killer as the protagonist. Walking on Glass (1985) weaves three separate narratives together, brilliantly, in the end. The Bridge (1986) used a similar trick, also brilliantly. (I appreciate a good narrative trick; Slaughterhouse-Five is one of my all-time favorites.)

With Transition, however, the narrative has become so fractured that I’ve generally lost the thread of who the characters are, what they’re after—heck, what the book is even about. (I get that you don’t always want to telegraph the goal up front, assuming that the protagonist will achieve it in the end. It is, for example, the Hunger Games trilogy; I assume the protagonist wins, or at least survives, the first death-match.) But here, some chapters seem entirely standalone and don’t serve any greater story. It probably doesn’t help that the story itself concerns a group of agents that can flit between dimensions which are copies of Earth (to some extent; think of string theory and an infinite possibilities, each marginally different), assuming new identities in the process.

And that some of the characters are actively trying to conceal and confuse their identities.

And that some of the characters may actually be the same character, just at different times in the narrative.

I don’t know.

I can’t f’ing tell.

If that sounds entirely too messy, that’s because it is. I love Banks, especially when his books come together… but in this case, I feel that he’s pulling a trick with far too long of a reveal. Instead of following whatever twists the narrative itself has in store, most of the story so far has simply been piecing out who’s who how the mechanics of this universe actually work.

And who knows; that may have been all of the story that he wished to tell.

It’s a well-written mess. And right now, it’s losing out to a well-written book. Guess which one gets to be a blockbuster movie.

Review: Misfits

Posted: January 18, 2012 in Heroes
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Here’s a show you might not have heard much about: Misfits. (The original series; not a show based on the band of that name… which, if you’re not familair, look like they’re headlined by undead versions of Lenny and Squiggy.) That is, unless you’re a fan of Hulu—Misfits, which originally aired in Britain (2009) is now hailed as a “Hulu Exclusive”. Granted, that’s a bit of a stretch for the word “exclusive,” considering that British viewers have already seen every episode, but so be it—the show now streams as part of your Hulu Plus subscription.

And it’s quite good. It centers around a group of misfits tasked with performing community service, until the day of a freak storm (my only real complaint, as the deus ex machina which sets the wheels in motion) which instills them with “super-powers”.

And here, “super-powers” is a bit of a stretch. For the most part, the powers are entirely involuntary to the characters, while at the same time exaggerated versions of their traits. The awkward kid can turn invisible, but only when no one is watching. The slutty girl can send anyone she touches into a sexual frenzy. The former athlete who screwed up his life buying coke can turn back time.

Aside from the episodes themselves, which are well written and acted, I’m most interested in this expression of super-powers. In most cases, super-powers are largely wish fulfillments. The superhero, whatever his origin, can fly, exhibit super-strength, fight really well, or show off incredible gadgets. They’re usually not sorry at all they have these super-powers, although they don’t always care for the responsibility that comes with them. Their powers are inherently good things, put to good use (or put to bad use, in the case of comic book villains).

In Misfits, their powers are more like curses. The characters would rather not have them, nor can they control them. Super-powers as curses.

It’s an interesting take on the genre. Heroes (the first season, at least) hooked me by taking a new approach to superheroes. Misfits—so far—has done a thoroughly fine job capturing my interest as well.

Five Things I Learned This Weekend

Posted: January 16, 2012 in Sports
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1. The option doesn’t work, not against a defense prepared against it. In the option, the quarterback keeps the ball and runs toward the sideline. He has the option to either keep the ball himself and turn upfield, or pitch it out to a running back who sweeps around behind him. 

LSU tried to option non-stop in the recent BCS championship game, and were shut out byAlabama’s impressive defense. It just didn’t work; knowing it was coming, the defenders stayed with the quarterback and were able to close to the running back when the pitch came. Denver also went with the option. Tim Tebow is criticized for running an offense more like a college-style than pro-style, and this past weekend, that included relying on the option. The Patriots defended it the whole game, and devastatedDenver45-10. Pro defenses are too damn fast to try and defeat east-west. 

2. Teams that rest at the end of the season never do win out in the end. I suppose I can sympathize with this coach’s decision: the playoffs are all wrapped up, maybe even homefield advantage. Why risk our star players to injury? Why not give them a few more weeks of precious rest? 

I think we saw why not, again, in the Packers-Giants game. The Packers rested Aaron Rodgers the final week, they had the wildcard weekend off, and two weeks later, the Packers’ offense looked about as rusty as could be. Dropped passes. Errant throws. Turnovers. The Giants, playing their best football at the end of the season, rolled in with momentum and dominated. 

It’s not the first time this has happened, and it never seems to work out of the teams that don’t play hard through the final games of the season. Philly and Indy both lost in the Super Bowl playing this way, and perhaps they deserved to—the football gods demand your full effort. 

3. Never bet against the refs. At least, not in Green Bay. Why the hell was going on with that game? I love football, but we need sports to not only be impartial, but almost just as importantly to seem impartial. I can handle a loss (not well, but I can handle one). However, my least favorite sporting event of all time had to be Superbowl XL, where the Steelers defeated the Seahawks 21-10. Every call seemed to go the Steelers way. Every call. Even when Seahawks QB Matt Hasslebeck threw an interception, he was penalized for blocking below the waist while trying to tackle the intercepting player. It was a heavily favored game for the Steelers—the commercials, I remember, even featured Steeler players with the Lombardi trophy, and the refs, intentional or not, certainly called it in their favor. Granted, living in Seattle at the time, I was biased as a fan. But that game looked far from impartial, and it made me hate the league. 

Likewise, with the tuck rule game. I had no horse in that particular race, but I sure smelled horse shit at the end of that game. A fumble is a fumble. If the QB is not in the act of throwing a pass, and the ball is knocked out of his hands, I say it’s a fumble. This rule—and really more importantly, this ruling on the field—seemed only there to give Tom Brady another chance at victory. 

In the Packers-Giants game, the refs looked like they were trying everything to do what they could to keep Green Bay in the game. Green Bay fumbled, they clearly fumbled, and after watching in review, they called the runner down by contact. I call bullshit.

Later in the game, the Giants were penalized for going to the QB’s head, when they very clearly did not, allowing Green Bay to continue their drive. 

This from a Chicago fan that had to suffer through the over the line game in Green Bay, where “Magic” Majkowski stepped over the line to throw a game winning touchdown, but after review they ruled it a legal pass. The Bears kept an asterisk mark on their records book for that season. 

The refs are there to preserve the neutrality of the game. The moment they break the perception of that neutrality, the game becomes a very ugly thing—and so while I’m glad the Giants won, I was upset that the had to win despite the perceived bias of the refs.

4. Where the Urgent Care Clinic is, in Seattle.

5. Seattle has extremely localized weather conditions. Extremely.

A Tale of Two Games

Posted: January 8, 2012 in Gaming
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Through the holiday break, I managed to play a couple of games: one with family, one with coworkers. One game proved a fairly resounding success, one proved something of a misfire.

Kill Doctor Lucky

The first game: Kill Doctor Lucky, I’d played several years before when it was originally sold by Cheap Ass Games. Like most of their games, it came in a plain white packet with 6 pieces of sturdy paper that fit together to form the game board and a basic set of cards; the whole thing looked like more like a prototype of a game than an actual product, but that was the appeal of Cheap Ass Games. Good games, cheaply packaged and sold.

I gave the updated version of the game to my wife for Christmas—a nicely repackaged edition published by Paizo, that featured a real game board and nice production values all around.

The game itself is a fairly straightforward. Dr. Lucky moves through his mansion in a regular pattern. You try and move into the room he’s in, when no one else can see you, and try and kill him. To do so, you play a murder card. You opponents try and play failure cards that add up to your murder card. That’s it.

I played with my wife and her mother, and they picked it up straight away. There were a few optional rules that could be used to expand the basic gameplay (Dr. Lucky has a dog that can follow him around and try and foil your attempt), which we tried but didn’t care for (moving Dr. Lucky around was management enough, and the most important detail of the game to track; moving the dog around as well became too much management).

That said, the game was simple enough that I can see playing this often enough that groups would devise their own house rules to add to the complexity (Dr. Lucky’s dog was, in fact, a fan-generated option which the publishers’ included—itself a cool gesture, I thought). For example, I can see adding cards that would allow you to close doors (all of the doorways in the house are open, allowing opponents to look into rooms and spoil your murder attempt). Or adding onto the mansion (with a basement level, or the like), randomizing rooms in the house (in the style of Betrayal on House on the Hill), having a second murder target, or a detective that tries to catch the murderers. There’s even a sequel, Save Doctor Lucky, where (you guessed it), you try and save the doctor while in view of another player.

It’s a simple game, but fun—and with loads of potential to customize.

Kill Doctor Lucky

Munchkin Quest

The second game: Munchkin Quest, I played with coworkers after the break. I’ve played the Munchkin card game before—there’s a deck of cards that everyone draws from, to build up their characters with races, classes, and items; as well as monsters you try and defeat. Combat is simple enough: you add up your level and the bonuses your treasure items give you, and try and beat the monster’s level. Succeed, and gain treasure and a level. Fail, and the monster takes your stuff. First player to level 10 wins.

The genius of the game comes from the interactivity in facing monsters. Comparing numbers is easy enough (and certainly works in games like Magic: the Gathering), but players can also either help each other for a share of the treasure, or hinder each other through cards they can play to steal players’ items, buff up the monsters, etc. Negotiations are fast and loose, making for a very enjoyable beer-and-pretzel game.

The style is cartoony and fun, and there are roughly 34,000 different expansions (including zombies, spies, pirates, ninjas—dear god, even Axe Cop, based on the online comic), but with the basic set fantasy-themed. It would make a great gateway product for more complex fantasy games, such as Dungeons & Dragons (teaching kids such basic concepts as the role of fighter, cleric, thief, and wizard). In fact, there’s even a Munchkin RPG now (with covers that more than a little resemble 3rd Edition D&D sourcebooks).

That’s Munchkin. Munchkin Quest is a board game version. I had high hopes for it—players navigate a dungeon, built room by room, discovering monsters along the way to try and fight and steal their stuff instead of drawing everything from a single deck of cards.

While that sounds straightforward enough, the problems came from the added complexity the game chose to hardwire in. Monsters move randomly after every turn. Combat is no longer straight number comparison, but adds in random dice rolls. Every room has its own random effects (often specifically so). Even movement comes with little footsteps tokens for players to turn over if they want, marking how many steps they’ve taken—an entirely unnecessary physical component that just added to the things to manage. If the game had an unofficial subtitle, it would have to be Munchkin Quest: Fiddely Bits.

There was so much going on, that the part of the game I enjoyed so much in the card version—negotiating with the other players to either help or hinder them—was almost entirely neglected. With everything else going on (and trying to learn), there just wasn’t enough mindspace left for it.

I can imagine that Munchkin Quest could be a great game for players committed to mastering its rules and looking for a game with a lot of re-playability. The trap is that all of what should be options are frontloaded into the game. In Kill Doctor Lucky, you start with a fairly simply game mechanic and can ramp it up from there. In Munchkin Quest, you start with everything at once, and enjoyment of the game largely derives from how much of it you can process.

Munchkin Quest

A sense of mastery, I think, is an important factor in games. Most games are fairly self-contained. Others have a few options that can be tacked on after basic mastery. I wonder what games there might be, intentionally designed to ramp up along the way, starting with a basic game and adding elements as players gain mastery along the way.

2011: Blog in Review

Posted: January 2, 2012 in General
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The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,100 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 35 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

2011 in Review

Posted: January 2, 2012 in General
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At the start of a new year, I wanted to look back at 2011 (Year of the Wabbit) and what it meant to me personally. Quite a great deal happened, a great deal to be thankful about. This is clearly my most patently self-centered posts—but hey, that’s some of the reason for keeping a blog in the first place, right?

First and foremost, I was married on September 10th (9/10/11—an easy enough date to remember, thankfully), to my best friend and co-conspirator… not to mention car pool buddy, workout partner, writing partner, travel partner, dog walking partner, and consummate drinking buddy. There’s not a lot of formal ceremonies we have in our society nowadays with friends and family coming together (outside of funerals, I suppose), so it feels hugely thrilling to have had such a happy, important occasion. Plus, people gave us membership to beer-of-the-month club as a wedding present—how cool is that?

I started grad school, taking my first 2 classes at the University of Washington’s MCDM program. Lots of work, but it feels great to be back in the classroom environment and the classes have been very applicable to my personal and professional interests. The next class will even be looking at gaming communities.

I spent another year with my lovingly decrepit pit bull.

I transitioned from editor-in-chief to producer of the Dungeons & Dragons website, working for Wizards of the Coast, an extremely enjoyable company to work for that’s stacked to the gills with people devoted to their jobs.

I completed my first marathon. I also completed the Seafair triathlon, St. Patrick’s Day 5k Dash, Beat the Bridge 8k run, and my first Warrior Dash obstacle course. I work behind a desk all day (and harbor a great love for beer (see above), cupcakes, and Top Pot doughnuts), so it’s been helpful to have activities to train towards, and rewarding to complete them. I don’t think I’ll keep at marathons, but this was my third triathlon, and had a great time doing it. I just need to learn to swim (I breaststroke the entire swim portion, sadly).

I participated in two fantasy football leagues, and managed to win a few games.

I traveled to India, for a week on my own (my first visit there). I went to Oktoberfest, to start off my honeymoon, and went from there to Strasbourg, Reims, Paris, London, and Cardiff (also my first time in Wales). I traveled to New Orleans, for my bachelor party (my first visit there). Chicago, to see my family and celebrate my birthday with good friends. Portland, to see the first baby of more good friends. Indianapolis, for another fun time at Gen Con. Binghamton, to visit the in-laws for the holidays. New York City. As much as I love being a homebody, I tend to few however much travel I complete in a given year as a kind of measure of success, especially to new places.

I went to the top of the Empire State Building.

I turned 37.

I kept at writing the speculative fiction novel I’ve been tinkering with in one form or another for several years (too many years, sadly—I feel a little like Brian from Family Guy, always working on Faster Than the Speed of Love). I didn’t finish the 2nd draft as I hoped (who knew a new position, marriage, and grad school would keep me busy), but I’m satisfied with how it’s shaping up, and hope to use this blog to showcase pieces of it as well as discuss writing in general.

Oh, and I finally started a blog.

All things considered, it was a good year—and one I was appreciative to share with my wife, family, and friends. I’ve always held to the old saying: all this too will change, so with that in mind, I wanted to at least put down my thanks to the universe here for all the good things that took place in 2011…

… and hope that the run of bad sports luck (2011 started with Wisconsin’s loss in the Rose Bowl, and ended with the Chicago Bears losing 5 in a row and getting dumped from the playoffs) will take a turn for the better.

Chicago just won today, although Seattle lost—so 1-1 isn’t too terrible way to start things off!

In any case, wishing everyone a memorable 2012. A leap year! Summer Olympics! Year of the Dragon! And thrilling wrap-up of the Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy!

Superheroes/Fathers

Posted: December 30, 2011 in Heroes
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Batman (http://fumettidccomics.tumblr.com)

As more of a personal note than anything else, this blog originally started off as a class project (Communications 546, in UW’s MCDM program) and ended up giving me the kick in the ass I needed to start and maintain a blog. It turned out to be something I enjoyed, a good deal. So now that class is over, I’ve decided to keep this as my personal blog.

The original focus (Our Heroes’ Journey) was on the reflection of heroes in our culture. I chose that topic because of its interest to me, but now that the blog has moved beyond class, that focus is no longer so critical. I still care very much about heroes, monsters, stories, and the like… but I’m looking forward to blogging about other things as well. Thus, ourheroesjourney.wordpress.com has become bartcarroll.com (a domain not purchased through GoDaddy.com).

That said, I wanted to address a question a friend of mine raised concerning superheroes. At a holiday party, he asked why so many heroes had “daddy issues.”

It’s certainly true, to some extent. There’s Batman, of course, forever avenging his parents’ murder. Superman (and Iron Man, too) living up to their dead fathers’ expectations. This vacation, I also received a copy of DK: Ultimate Wolverine, and learned that his superhero path also started with the murder of his father.

For most of our major superheroes, this certainly does seem to be a grounding theme. Spider-man started his path, not with the death of his father, but with the death of his uncle—a difference, story-wise, that seems entirely arbitrary. Even for second tier characters, this seems to be the case. Daredevil. Robin. The Green Lantern. Cyclops. Storm. I’m sure there are more, many more, but you get the idea—either their fathers or both of their parents are killed early in their lives.

There are exceptions, of course (on the spot, I could only think of the Punisher—and even then, he’s driven by the murders of his wife and children). So to finally answer my friend’s question, why is this the case?

For starters, of course, you need some fundamental event to push a given person to become a superhero. It’s not enough just to receive super-powers (which happens often enough, mainly through exposure to radiation, government experiments, or supernatural apotheosis), but you need some event for the recipient to use them—and use them for good, to right some wrong, done to them personally and then carried over into the world at large. That’s the beauty of Spider-man’s origins to me (and many others). Not only does he receive his powers, but as Uncle Ben instructs him, with great power comes great responsibility (the single best line in comics ever); and when Peter Parker fails to take heed, it’s his uncle’s murder that finally propels him into lifelong action.

And why is it largely the father? There are some great psychological reasons you could point to, I’m sure. What the loss of a father figure means to a person. Once the original crimes are avenged, it’s that need to live up to a father’s expectations—that can never be satisfactorily acknowledged if the father is gone—that drives a superhero to continue his very difficult path.

There are of course exceptions and elements that play with this concept quite effectively. Alfred serves as Batman’s de facto father figure (at least as portrayed in the recent movies), and does so marvelously. Thor still has his father in Odin, and their family dynamics help drive the story (with Thor still looking to gain his father’s approval and acceptance as heir). And The Incredibles (the greatest superhero movie of them all) revolves around the trials of a super-father and how he interacts with his super-family.

I do wonder if the common element of a loss of a father/parents also says something about the relative concentration of male superheroes. Are there any superheroes that have instead contended with the loss of a mother as their driving force? Or would that be seem as emasculating by readers?

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