It’s time to retire AAA

The term AAA originally was brought over from credit rating agencies, and used as a replacement for the movie industry’s equivalent term “blockbuster.” It was likely due to the ever increasing growth of the video games industry, serving as a advertisement for potential investors. There, it carried the same definition as it did in the financial markets, that of a safer investment, usually because of the fact that a larger budget would result in a higher quality game, product, and return. However, with the popularization of the Internet, the markets are changing, with smaller studios developing increasingly different models than that of the old fashioned blockbuster.

Indie games, for instance, tend towards marketing themselves for a certain niche audience. This comes from the inherent limitations that stem from a lower budget, thus making success tied to appealing to all of a target demographic rather than some of the broader mainstream consumer base.

This, in addition to the type of word of mouth marketing that tends to propagate within niche markets results in lower budget titles sometimes receiving better reviews and thus higher sales than some big budget games. Therefore it is time to switch off from thinking of a game’s returns as being solely tied to its budget.

I propose a two dimensional model: of gameplay depth and general fidelity.

The former relates to the number and variety of interactions possible in a game. On one end you would have a Bethesda game, like Fallout or the Elder Scrolls series, or GTA by Rockstar, which allowed the player to do almost whatever they want and provides little direction. Due to the technical requirements for this type of game, this side of the scale will tend towards a higher budget. On the other side of the scale, there are games such as Vampire Survivors or various “boomer shooters” which typically center around one gameplay loop and thus typically cost less money to develop.

The second scale refers to everything that the player experiences that relates to the game being a piece of software. This covers everything from quality of life to bugs and even to graphics, the way that the game is presented to the player. This to relates back to technical limitations and budgetary concerns, as projects with a higher budget have the capability for more detailed game environments and art direction, quality assurance teams, and a developer team more able to fix, or preemptively prevent, bugs from being released into the final version of the game to be sold.

The main reason for the splitting of these two scales is due to recent happenings in the games market that are quite interesting. The success of the voxel-based Battlebit Remastered. The praise given to Hifi Rush. The general success of Vampire Survivors and its various imitators. The use of PSX graphics in many praised boomer shooters. And of course the industry-wide and cultural impact of Undertale and Minecraft.

Lower fidelity graphics can coincide with a simple gameplay loop to create a smash hit. But at the same time so can higher fidelity with simple loops (Doom 2016) and complex loops with low fidelity (Minecraft).

It’s a new age of game development where everybody matters anew, where the young and nimble can cater to personal niches and succeed without the need of immense backing. The old juggernauts, in this changed environment either need to change themselves into something more befitting the current market, or they can die stagnant in the past.

The World God Only Knows (Reread)

8/10 – Excellent during the first two thirds, but a bit unfocused in the final third; any disappointment lies in the fact that the story could have played out better and more whole in the last third.

The first third comprises of establishing arcs: short to medium length stories centered around a single character of the week for the main protagonist to achieve victory through and for the reader to grow fond of. Since just repeating the same type of story over and over again would get boring quickly, its quite impressive that the author of the work manages to play with known tropes to keep the formula fresh. This is especially so in Chihiro’s arc, which has a more push-and-pull dynamic between the heroine and the protagonist rather than the previous arcs’ one-sided approach to love. Other noteworthy story arcs include Minami’s, where the story is told from the heroine’s point of view, and Sumire’s, where a parent angle is thrown in to further complicate the scenario. However, by far the best of these establishing story arcs is Yui’s body-switching extravaganza. Everything from the initial concept to the twists and turns to the resolution were all written wonderfully and led to the introduction of one of the series’ best characters.

The second third is mainly one story arc spread over six whole volumes, each volume long enough to constitute their own arcs. This continuous arc is comprised of revisits of old characters while also blending the setting into both the plot and character arcs. The real climax is during the final portion of the arc, where the protagonist harshly breaks off a developing romantic relationship in order to advance his own aims (and the plot). The resolution to this arc is a smidge messy, and the ending especially falls a bit flat due to the action happening, as I recall, in just a couple pages.

The final third is definitely the most controversial, despite its overall success in unwinding any plot threads. The most lacking part of it has to be the lack of focus on the already developed characters from the previous arcs, instead focusing on introducing new characters in order to create a self-contained time loop to explain all of the unlikely events that occurs in the present that were brushed off before. While the attempt is somewhat commendable, at this point the reader has already become so accustomed to and familiar with the already established characters that veering off into introducing more characters and capital-:l “Lore” feels like a missed opportunity. Even more so considering how rushed the final volume feels, with big events being done in a few panels and with the entire case just moving on after the protagonists confesses to their choice. At least one or two volumes worth of slice-of-life romcom hijinks, maybe slid in between the time travel chapters more often, would have been a welcome addition. An actually satisfying send off for the heroines would have been nice as well.

Overall, the manga is good, and well worth the read at least until the final third. There, it might be best to speed-read through rather than reading with the same intensity as in the first two arcs, at least until the final two volumes.

13 Sentinels Aegis Rim

9/10 – Like hiking in a fall afternoon to see the sunset, and then returning home happy.

It’s not so often that you get to experience non-linear storytelling in video games. Sometimes you might get unreliable narrators or time-skips, but not often non-linear experiences. It’s probably due to the difficulty in writing such a script, especially if you have a multitude of characters that then requires all their individual experiences to fit together. Any holes in the story will be like autumn leaves on a sunny day, allowing for glaring issues to become fully visible. Luckily, and thankfully, 13 Sentinels is tightly woven together.

The game is split into two sections: a third-person, bird’s eye view of mecha battles; and a pick-and-choose story that provides the context for everything that’s going on.

The story is largely told in the form of a visual novel, with a heavy emphasis on dialogue, but the dialogue is mostly kept short and concise, since more long-winded descriptions wouldn’t really fit the style that the story is going for. The whole thing is largely a story of people, so you’re not going to get a whole ten page monologue from somebody, but rather short snippets of information or questioning. In this way, the dialogue is more realistic, even though the script can fall into some “just talk” cliches. But that much is forgivable given the “on borrowed time” parts of the plot. In other words, the tension allows for the cliches to make sense. The context makes sense.

Themes include: the limits of AI in achieving humanity, the role of memories in experiencing the world, the generational transfer of power (from the old to the young), the role of differing experiences in decision-making, “time-loop” thought experiments, and (as part of its game design) the tension of incomplete knowledge of a complete system.

I’ve heard some people say that the mecha battles section is a bit disappointing, but considering the game was originally planned for the Vita, its fine. Plus, as someone whose into that kind of DEFCON, minimalist, war-fighting aesthetic, the mecha battles are pretty fun. Especially since the sound design behind the armament skills are so well done and provide that oomph that is expected from high-caliber weaponry. Note: I haven’t played the unlockable fourth ward yet, but if it doesn’t have a full party (as in like all 13) endless survival wave, then I’ll be only partially disappointed. I know its bad to expect things that really don’t need to exist, but still, the thought’s there.

All in all, good game, nothing life-changing, but a fun experience to have.

Disco Elysium

Disco Elysium is a very good game, simply put.
It is an escapade into the types of emotions and tensions that a text-based rpg can offer.
The soundtrack is very “indie” and matches well with the late-soviet era aesthetic.
The checks are some of the most stressful things I have ever felt in media, especially impressive since they’re classic-type barriers.
Simple, but extremely functional.
At its core the narrative is a mystery, but as you go on and on your merry way, every single group dichotomy collapses.
Good and bad flip-flop so often, and it makes sense when it does.
The politics was crass, but funny because of its satirical tone.
The Pale and the Silence were excellent bits of lore, metaphors for the ceaseless past, into the past, and Harry’s own amnesia, a break point.
I’ve heard some others say that the ending was rushed, or bloated, or disappointing.
I would not disagree, however for my incredibly long last play session, it was very satisfying.
Perhaps that was the intention, to engage you so much that the last dialogues would be towards a worn out player.
It certainly was for me.
And that weariness made the looks back feel all the more sweeter.
Just my take though.

It was an excellent game that swallowed my attention like the present into the past.
I hope that many more like it come in the future.

9.8/10

A solid, engrossing narrative, kept tension through traditional RPG mechanics.
One of the best in its field.

A Short Opinion Piece on Subs and Dubs in Anime

I want to first start off by saying that this is not a formal piece, and as such, I will be switching between the first and third person a plenty.

In the paradoxically welcoming, insular community of people who watch Japanese anime, there exists a debate of fluctuating seriousness, of subtitles vs dubbing, which varies in intensity based on how new releases are handled. This debate tends to bleed into debates around translations as well, with “subbers” claiming a certain integrity behind using subtitles instead of foreign (non-Japanese) voices.

I first want to cover the sub vs dub debate before moving onto issues regarding localization.

As I see it, subbed anime and dubbed anime, hell, even subbed television and movie compared to their dubbed counterpoints, are different forms of media. Not completely so, of course, since they still utilise the same fundamental components and techniques. However, when it comes to how the viewer’s role in each, how they actively participate in their  “watching,” the two formats’ differences become plainly obvious.

In a subbed show, there exists two major spaces that the eye looks at: the image space and the word space (the subs). In order for someone to “fully experience the show,” their eyes are given the duty to travel between these two spaces, taking time between each flick of the eye to absorb as many images or text as possible before moving onto the next section. This type of movement is one of the many reasons why some shows, like the Monogatari series or the Tatami Galaxy, are seen as “the upper echelon” of anime; as it takes some time before enough dexterity is built up for a viewer to be able to quickly absorb either images or text and switching to the other before the scene itself switches.

It’s also because of this movement of the eye that subbed anime can be better compared to manga and comics (most manga tends to have simpler images than their American counter parts in exchange for a faster pace) rather than a dubbed show. Since, in graphic media (manga, comics, graphic novels) the word space exists in the same frames as the picture space, but there, often times the positioning of the word space in the picture space is layed out in such a way to make the flow of reading easier on the eyes. This flow does not exist much in subbed anime, where the word space is often permanently affixed to the botttom of the frame.

Dubbed anime, in contrast, is more akin to your tradition television show; it consists of two major parts: the sound and the picture space (I will not call it the “sound space,” as sound itself implies a space). Here, less pressure is put on the eyes as they are not required to zip and zoom between two spaces. Instead, the viewer engages with the auditory sense and the visual sense, creating a comfortable balance that requires less active participation. A “viewing experience” rather than a “viewer experiencing” if you will.

This contrast changes slightly if you can understand Japanese, of course; since an anime in its most rawest form uses a Japanese dubbing. But, for the increasingly-growing Western audiences, that sort of luxury (of learning a whole new language, extremely different from the already existing English lingua franca) does not exist.

[A side note in regards to sound: I understand that the tones and enunciations of Japanese voices can be rudimentarily understood given enough exposure, and that understanding may lead to a deeper understanding through sound that encroaches on the territory of dubbed anime, but that can be, in my opinion, lumped in with the sound design, as it sort of exists to elicit “base, instictual reactions.”]

Moving onto localization, the behemoth that it is, I want to first showcase the complexity of the whole problem with a metaphor. Take the colour red, which may look different for whoever reads this, but nevertheless, take your colour red, and imagine a painting of a bird with feathers of your red. Imagine yourself as the painter of this painting, of a small bird pearched gently on a thin branch, it’s [your] red feathers contrasting with the leaves around it, making it almost seem like one of the many fruits attached to the other branches. Imagine that you were amused by this likeness one day earlier, and that your now finished painting is of that scene, meant to elicit the same kind of small amusement that you head yesterday.

(Pardon for the language, but) How the fuck do you convey this to a colourblind person? Even more so, how can you even be sure that people who presumably see the same red as you actually perceive the same red and thus are able to understand the implications behind the scene?

And here we arrive at the major issue around translations: around direct translations vs localizations.

If we focus on the amusement itself, the message that the show or art is supposed to illicit, then it can be said that a localization would be more effective in illiciting that emotion. A treasure trove of regional phrases and ideas could be drawn from, easily understood by the audience, in order to give off the same themes and concepts that one would get in the original language. However, especially in the case of anime, in which a logographic, triple-alphabetic language is being converted into a letter-compositional, single-alphabetic language, many nuances can be lost using localization. A clear example that comes to mind is in Akira, where Tetsuo and Kaneda shout the other’s name at each other in menacing fashion. In Japanese, where the implied has a heavy emphasis, this shouting can be seen as natural, as the tone of voice is enough to convey the sort of “conversation” the two are having. However, in English, for example, no sane soul would ever talk like this, basing their communication on a mutual understanding of implications. Instead, since most common phrases are spoken quickly, the shouting may be localized from 「カネダ！」、「テツオ！」。。。into “Kaneda, you bastard,” “Tetsuo, you sly son of a bitch.” [Of course, other insults can be used instead of the swears, but the swears give off a general idea of the tone of their voices]. This type of dialogue alteration may upset some people who crave for consistency, but in order for a quick understanding to be met, some things have to be sacrificed.

Of course, an alternative is just to learn Japanese, or whatever the language the show is in, but that takes time and life is short.

In that case you might ask, then why don’t things like translator’s notes come back so that the differing cultures and languages can be bridged together? Well, this goes back to the argumentation behind subs and dubs, since that would be a different type of experience. It’s one thing to do this in a book, where it can be likened to having short glossaries at the bottom of each page, but in a moving visual medium, which uses still images in time, it would be even more frantic in the moment, or detract completely from the flow of the experience by encouraging frequent pausing to read the text. In an extreme sense, it would be like if after each episode in your Netflix midnight binge, you were placed in one of the Saw movies or something. Of course, this is an extreme example, but the disorientation, the seperation of time and space, of word and picture, almost like water and oil, is still there.

 

There are no easy answers to this problem. As the reach of each individual grows farther and farther with both globalization and the worldwide web, incongruities between cultures will have to be addressed. It’s too easy and lazy to write it off with [lol just learn (insert language)], since the day only consists of 24 hours, two thirds of which the average person has their own duties and responsibilities. The remaining eight needs to not only be allotted to winding back down and up again, but also to personal responsabilities as well. As I said earlier, there is simply too little time in our 6-8 cycles of life (referring to about 6-8 economic cycles, or around 60-80 years). We’re not machines after all, able to take in stimuli and output results. Each fibre in our bodies have to be honed, through intentional breaking and repairing over days, years, even decades (cycles).

…

So yeah, that’s all about it as far as I want to write about for now regarding this topic. Bit of an anticlimactic return from tangency, but whatever, I suppose.

oo, an extra bit, I might add, somewhat related to this topic, is my own opinions behind Trigun (not Badlands) and My Hero Academia. Personally, I stopped watching the latter specifically because of the sakuga (or the great and dynamic animation). For the most part, I watch anime in subs, frantic eye movements and everything, so when sakuga comes on, and dialogue exists behind it, I more or less miss out on the fluidity and motion, since each continuous stream becomes a jagged mess of inbetweens and maybe some keyframes. In contrast, Trigun, known for having a piss-poor budget, especially visible in the second have, enraptured me more than MHA, since the still frames allowed for the eye to travel nicely (it gave it more time). Of course, “from an objective standpoint,” I still have to give the torch to MHA, but personally, I enjoyed Trigun better. Same kind of goes with Mob Psycho II and its American-portions of sakuga that often just took me out of it. It’s just too much for me personally to digest.

Punpun

It’s difficult deciding how to word everything in this. Since binging an over 100 chapter-long manga that was meant for serialization isn’t normally something done or should be done. Especially in this case where the original magazine was published weekly so as to give some space between the chapters. Nonetheless I’ll give my thoughts on the experience as well as I can, in case this all becomes wiped again in the future.

To recap, I have just finished reading all 147 chapters of Oyasumi Punpun in roughly six hours, give or take a few halves. I will say that it has been quite the ride, and that currently most of my upper torso is paralyzed at the moment. Since, typically at this point, you usually just slouch back and think for a while before returning to reality.

Nevertheless, let’s begin.

The art is good, like really good. About near Homunculus levels of detail and direction. The best parts are either massive wide shots, usually taken in the side portrait position, or incredibly shaded half-body shots, where the characters expressions are fully unveiled. The choice to make Punpun appear to the reader as a small bird is also a nice touch, making him appear more fragile and innocent than a normal kid would look like.

I will note that during the entirety of the read I was listening to synthwave and that I am already familiar with Catcher in the Rye to the extent of recognizing the similarities between two stories.

Plot-wise though, I would actually consider Catcher in the Rye to be a better story, mostly because it’s more tightly written and has a certain unreliable narrator. Then again, this might as well be comparing apples to oranges since the two works are in different mediums.

Overall, its a good read. Grueling to get through, but still a good read. Thing is though, it ends on a happy note that still makes you feel empty inside. I suppose this is more or less from the fact that barely anyone hit any consistent highs morally speaking. As in most of the cast would fluctuate between certain extremes with some in permanent lows, but none of them ever really were consistently nice or whatever. It brings me back to a comment said about it, that a lot of it is misery porn, and I would agree. The few highs that each character reaches, especially Aiko, felt specifically done in order to stir shit up when the distressing inevitable happens.

(Fuck, the hanging scene was really well done. Side shot with great distance. Man, that’s good).

Anyway, would I ever read this again?

Hell no. I read it out of curiosity, got invested into the world it presented, and was left with nothing but a regretful melancholy about the inevitable state of the world, the inevitable highs and lows that exist everywhere.

A lot of other people said that they’ve cried from reading this, and maybe it’s because I read to fast, but the most extreme I felt was a firm tugging on the heart strings. So, I guess it satisfies the quota.

As a final note I should want to make this distinction for any future person that stumbles across this. If Catcher in the Rye is about tragedy becoming a catalyst for disillusionment and cynicism, which then ends with a rather warm feeling of happening, the Punpun is about repeated tragedy resulting in being unable to function as a person, then leading to further tragedy. To use a hastily created metaphor, Catcher breaks a person and has him try to avoid the sharp bits that are now himself. Punpun breaks a person and has his broken pieces serve as the only available tool for interacting with other people. There’s also a difference between antagonism and self-loathing between the two, but that should be discussed in an actual review or retrospective and not just a post-credits rant.

In summary, it’s a good read, but don’t read it again, if your active memory is still as good as it is now. If anything, I would compare it to having surgery done: you need to do it if necessary, but intentionally getting yourself into the situation is just foolish and self-destructive.

Koe no Katachi

So, right now it’s still morning, though I feel the need to write about my thoughts on the movie I just watched. I may avoid saying the name specifically, but that’s more because of an unfamiliarity typing romaji than anything else.

Fair warning though, I have read the manga, all the chapters I think, so this retrospective will be biased in some ways.

Overall, it was good. It didn’t rip me apart or anything, but it was fairly good. Though, I feel that a lot of the “depth” so to say, or rather the filling, the tomatoes, the lettuce, etc., was missing.

The most apparent one is the movie arc, that was completely removed from the movie itself. Now, it has been quite a while, almost a year I think, since I actually read the manga, but the movie arc was quite important to the plot because of how it reintroduced lingering resentments. From what I recall, Shouko’s reason, or at least what built it up along the way, was her inability to contribute as much to the movie (acting through voice). In that way, it kind of separates the past and the present, something that the movie doesn’t really do all that much of.

In the manga, the past sets up the characters, and provides the events that put them into their situations, but also portrays their personalities and characters through how their past behaviors translated into their present emotional, psychological, and societal states.

In the movie, due to the lack of separation between the two time periods, it almost seems as if the plot was driven due to their past actions, rather than their current situations. I should elaborate: it more as if they are acting because of the whole bullying thing that happened, rather than because them as people are (relatively / somewhat) incompatible. Other people, if I remember correctly, have criticized the lack of depth of the characters, but I don’t remember that all too well, so I’ll just leave my opinion with the lack of depth of the situation.

Also, this is just from someone who has become overly critical of how a film is done (timing, shots, and stuff like that), I think the movie was too quickly done. Not in like it was rough around the edges or anything (it did look very nice), but that the pacing of a lot of scenes felt kind of rushed. I know that, being a movie, there are limits to how much can be added in because of time or budget, but since I read the manga, and am also reading another of the mangaka’s works as well, I kind of want to make this point.

A lot of what makes Ooima’s work interesting is how she handles paneling and action in them, being that a lot of actions are drawn step by step, without much exposition or talk over them. It kind of makes the paneling feel more human, if it makes any sense, since it’s like the characters are actually focused on what they’re doing, or are thinking about what has been said to them (which does take time, thinking is not a free action).

Thus, when I go to the movie, the lack of fidgety nothingness is kind of disappointing.

When I say that, I’m not referring to the sign language or anything (which was alright), but rather to small little details that reflect what I like to call, “Japanese silence.”

I’m going to go on a bit of a tangent here, so bear with me.

In American, or even Western, literature, film, etc. silence (that is when no one is talking) is typically reserved for portraying an awkward atmosphere that may be used for comic relief, or for a bit of “human expression” in the characters (blushing, etc.).

But, in a lot of (some really; but if Yugioh is anything to go off of, then the point still stands) Japanese works, silence and nothing happening is used to convey a character’s human aspects. This is especially so in Ooima’s paneling, as people wait, they react, and they hesitate (minutely) about what happens around them and what they are going to do.

Flip back to the movie, and the lack of empty time makes the characters’ behaviors seem as if they’re based on the dialogue alone (words, accusations, etc.) rather than being an interaction between the characters. It’s sort of like it was adapted from a light novel, or even a novel in general, rather than being adapted from a manga (graphic novel). In my opinion, it makes it feel a bit light, as if it skimmed off the surface of the manga rather than fully adapting it to the big screen.

Music was good, though. I really like what they did with the piano tracks, where the individual key presses were audible. Made it feel like you were up close to the piano (hands playing), (no harm, I hope, saying this) kinda like how Shouko would (be able to hear music, since I don’t think pitch can be established through any medium except for auditory sounds).

Good movie though. I kind of think the pacing issue is sort of the opposite of Akira’s: there, the pacing was well done, but the “open ending” left an empty taste in the mouth; here, the pacing was kind of quick, but the ending was, let’s say, more conclusive than Akira’s.

Oh yeah, the ending was a bit of a “disappointment” as well. Though, it’s not all bad, but it seems to have a different kind of meaning than the one of the manga,.

The manga’s version is more about “commitment,” or rather Ishida’s determination to go where Shouko goes in the future and their eventual “reuniting” at the high school reunion.

The movie’s version seems to be more about “growth,” and contains the idea more in a closed fashion, as in: from decent to retribution.

It contrasts with the manga’s, which is more: decent to being able to happily struggle.

Still a good movie, though. Would recommend it to anyone for a watch.