I was a huge fan of Photopia when I played it; the more I got to know Cadre’s work and inspirations, the less fond I felt for the game, though I’m not sure why that should be so.
You’re right that the interactivity point is largely a matter of perspective, but I would take some issue with the criticism that the game does not suggest it will be especially interactive. Let us not forget that the game opens with the following splash:
“Will you read me a story?”
“Read you a story? What fun would that be? I’ve got a better idea: let’s tell a story together.”
We ultimately learn this is not the author talking to the player, but Allison talking to the girl she’s babysitting. But nevertheless the game teases with the idea that we’re “tell[ing] a story together,” when in fact we are not. The interesting thing is to ponder whether Allison is equally constrictive of her ward’s creativity as Cadre is of his players’ — in which case she is much less a saint than we might imagine.
[...] am reminded of the game (and the difficulty of people’s reactions to it) by this stupendous retrospective at Necessary Games. Though I doubt the Japanese designers had played or even heard of it, Photopia was still the first [...]
That’s a good observation regarding "winning vs. losing" Krendil. To me this brings to mind the constructed nature of the game, and the fact that we’re a world removed from what’s going on. To win within the world of the game, to achieve "victory" brings little to no satisfaction in the non-diegetic world… whereas failing involves an interesting journey… interesting, because usually the diegetic and non-diegetic worlds of gaming are built to "align," more or less, because the developer wants the player to want to win. To bring the world of the game into such stark contrast with the world in which we ourselves exist is really quite an interesting decision on the part of Virtanen. I’ll have to think more about exactly what this kind of disconance achieves from the standpoint of intent, or meaning.
I agree with your observations on the Biblical metaphor. And I will definitely try to review Beacon one of these days.
To me, the game sort of asked the question, "What’s the difference between winning and losing?" Technically, you win if you stay in the first room, because it says ‘the end’ shows the credits. On the other hand, if you exercise your curiosity and find the end, you simply disappear.
Why is one a victory and the other not? For me, obeying orders and becoming a floating head seems more like a defeat, because the head succeeds in dominating you and making you more like himself, which is not much of a reward. If you defy the floating head and reach the end, you retain your sense of self until the very end, and you do not become a rude and petty thee-eyed floating head of death. I think the latter is a more heroic ending, if not happier.
Also, re: Biblical metaphor, before eating the fruit, Eden was supposed to be a pretty awesome place, much better than the corner of some dark room. And if you want ultimate awareness, it must include ultimate awareness of pain as well as everything else.
Bottom line is, the game was only fun for a few minutes. No game that can’t even hold my interest for an hour can possibly be called good. Rise of the Robots was entertaining for longer than that. Next, please.
Looking forward to some witty fellow calling me out on having a short attention span, growing up with shiny graphics, etc. Still won’t make the game better.
Interesting idea to compare Spelunky and Canabalt. I think Matt Kaplan describes Canabalt very well when he says:
Larger, more complex games aim for occasionally memorable setpieces, snapshots of the kind of suspense and cathartic “giving into the doom” that Canabalt evinces in mere seconds of gameplay.
Canabalt is very much about a particular feeling, a particular moment, and our instinctive reaction to it. Where in Spelunky the player must constantly make meaningful choices that will determine the arc of their story, in Canabalt you only make one choice (to press the button or not), and that choice is really more instinctive and primal than the choices being made in Spelunky… how many people do you imagine play Canabalt and decide not to press the button, but rather to let the protagonist die at the first possible opportunity? The choice to press the button is so instinctive that it’s almost not there at all. So the meaning in Canabalt, I think, comes from this dichotomizing of choice and fate, free will and destiny. Where Spelunky is about the player’s ability to do otherwise, Canabalt is about the question of the player’s ability to do otherwise. Which really makes the game very philosophical, in my opinion… it’s almost a meta game, subverting the “mechanisms” of life by subverting the mechanisms of gameplay.
Do you make little art games, or "game poems" to express yourself to the world? Would you like to see more videogames that tackle every aspect of human experience—the interior stuff, as well as the exterior stuff? Do you make games during the day and read poetry at night—or vice versa? Would you be interested in a cozy space where you could talk about this stuff with other game makers without being considered weird?
If you answered "yes" to any of these questions, join my Game Poets Discord!
Photopia can be played online with Parchment.
I was a huge fan of Photopia when I played it; the more I got to know Cadre’s work and inspirations, the less fond I felt for the game, though I’m not sure why that should be so.
You’re right that the interactivity point is largely a matter of perspective, but I would take some issue with the criticism that the game does not suggest it will be especially interactive. Let us not forget that the game opens with the following splash:
“Will you read me a story?”
“Read you a story? What fun would that be? I’ve got a better idea: let’s tell a story together.”
We ultimately learn this is not the author talking to the player, but Allison talking to the girl she’s babysitting. But nevertheless the game teases with the idea that we’re “tell[ing] a story together,” when in fact we are not. The interesting thing is to ponder whether Allison is equally constrictive of her ward’s creativity as Cadre is of his players’ — in which case she is much less a saint than we might imagine.
[...] am reminded of the game (and the difficulty of people’s reactions to it) by this stupendous retrospective at Necessary Games. Though I doubt the Japanese designers had played or even heard of it, Photopia was still the first [...]
As a heads up, your sidebar link of "Get it from IFDB" is broken.
That’s a good observation regarding "winning vs. losing" Krendil. To me this brings to mind the constructed nature of the game, and the fact that we’re a world removed from what’s going on. To win within the world of the game, to achieve "victory" brings little to no satisfaction in the non-diegetic world… whereas failing involves an interesting journey… interesting, because usually the diegetic and non-diegetic worlds of gaming are built to "align," more or less, because the developer wants the player to want to win. To bring the world of the game into such stark contrast with the world in which we ourselves exist is really quite an interesting decision on the part of Virtanen. I’ll have to think more about exactly what this kind of disconance achieves from the standpoint of intent, or meaning.
I agree with your observations on the Biblical metaphor. And I will definitely try to review Beacon one of these days.
Cheers.
To me, the game sort of asked the question, "What’s the difference between winning and losing?" Technically, you win if you stay in the first room, because it says ‘the end’ shows the credits. On the other hand, if you exercise your curiosity and find the end, you simply disappear.
Why is one a victory and the other not? For me, obeying orders and becoming a floating head seems more like a defeat, because the head succeeds in dominating you and making you more like himself, which is not much of a reward. If you defy the floating head and reach the end, you retain your sense of self until the very end, and you do not become a rude and petty thee-eyed floating head of death. I think the latter is a more heroic ending, if not happier.
Also, re: Biblical metaphor, before eating the fruit, Eden was supposed to be a pretty awesome place, much better than the corner of some dark room. And if you want ultimate awareness, it must include ultimate awareness of pain as well as everything else.
PS: please review Beacon from LD15
Bottom line is, the game was only fun for a few minutes. No game that can’t even hold my interest for an hour can possibly be called good. Rise of the Robots was entertaining for longer than that. Next, please.
Looking forward to some witty fellow calling me out on having a short attention span, growing up with shiny graphics, etc. Still won’t make the game better.
Thanks for the kind words Guy P. Encouragement’s always welcome :)
Not much to say except I really enjoyed this game, and I really enjoy your reviews.
Interesting idea to compare Spelunky and Canabalt. I think Matt Kaplan describes Canabalt very well when he says:
Canabalt is very much about a particular feeling, a particular moment, and our instinctive reaction to it. Where in Spelunky the player must constantly make meaningful choices that will determine the arc of their story, in Canabalt you only make one choice (to press the button or not), and that choice is really more instinctive and primal than the choices being made in Spelunky… how many people do you imagine play Canabalt and decide not to press the button, but rather to let the protagonist die at the first possible opportunity? The choice to press the button is so instinctive that it’s almost not there at all. So the meaning in Canabalt, I think, comes from this dichotomizing of choice and fate, free will and destiny. Where Spelunky is about the player’s ability to do otherwise, Canabalt is about the question of the player’s ability to do otherwise. Which really makes the game very philosophical, in my opinion… it’s almost a meta game, subverting the “mechanisms” of life by subverting the mechanisms of gameplay.