You can imagine the theoretical version of this game per the emergent, systemic gameplay I discussed in my recent interactive fiction article. Without the need to create unique assets for everything, it would be easier to apply many more of the draft (in this game, a spell using notes plucked on strings wound to a distaff) effects to each object, and universal actions could have been integrated in to allow more freeform puzzle solutions. Indeed, the manual here says “There is more than one way to solve many of the puzzles.” but then immediately hedges: “In fact some of the activities… [are] simply experiences for you to enjoy.” And yes, many, many of the things you can do in this game are one-off hardcoded interactions to reward you for sketching out a puzzle solution that might have made sense in a game that had the resources to make it feasible. The only puzzle with multiple solutions (blunting or twisting the sword in the forge) is a binary-choice fail-safe in case you missed the sharpening draft from earlier, less of an expression of the malleability of the object and more of a shrug to let the player carry on.
Now interactive fiction… this is a genre I’ve been keen on getting into a few times but have never quite gone all in on. On and off for the last few years I had been working on an adventure game with a minimal, script-driven engine, and at some point last year I had a phase where I was interested in trying to write it in Inform instead. One of my research tasks is writing monitoring software derived from formal logic statements, and these tend to be written in a declarative language, which is the camp Inform falls into. Most languages are imperative, as in they provide a series of instructions; declarative languages describe simply what entities are by contrast, assuming that if a top-level entity is defined that is compiled from lower-level entities, their attributes and such will transfer directly into the full object.1 In Inform’s case, I figured the base engine (which handles verb parsing based on what your character is able to perform in the context they’re in) would give me a strong enough basis to do what I wanted with my concepts, though I ended up moving away from it a bit because I wanted stronger authorial control over the pace (surely doable with Inform, but maybe not the right tool for it).
I hopped on the roguelike bandwagon recently because of some friends, specifically variations on the classic tile-based format (although I also put a fair amount of time into Slay the Spire alongside these). Pretty quickly I got sucked in by the short run length and critical thinking required to succeed, and having extremely quick combat that prioritizes positioning and item usage helped mitigate the tedium that other turn-based combat systems fall into. I still have a lot of time left to invest in these games to hit a proper clear though, so I didn’t want to dedicate full reviews to any of them.
Despite releasing a couple years prior, Zombie Revenge pioneered Devil May Cry’s signature bullet juggling, all the way down to the enemy splaying out in the air as they bounce. In Zombie Revenge’s case, the rigid combo system with minimal interruptible frames makes the gun mandatory for linking strings, especially since it’s the most reliable OTG in your arsenal, and almost every full string forces a knockdown. It’s not merely a tool for styling on enemies either; it takes good timing to shoot a downed enemy in the window where they’ll pop back up for a juggle, as the game removes the property after a period of time or a failed attempt, and spacing the followup can be vexing depending on where they landed. Also unlike Devil May Cry, there’s an actual ammo system at play here with no manual reloading, so timing combos to fall earlier in your clip is essential. Tack on a substantial movelist with options for interrupt points, differently sized hitboxes, juggle/knockdown setups, and redirectable followups, and you’ve got a rather expressive combat engine for a game of its era.
Originally the start of the eclectic Hebereke series,1Ufouria had an unassuming localization for the European market that left it with few western fans until emulator-fueled retrospectives came along. After I dug past the first hour, I was shocked to find a sophisticated Metroidvania structure hiding behind the ho-hum platformer up front. Ufouria gates its mechanics around different characters that must be “recruited” by knocking some sense to them in a quick boss battle (you and your friends have crash landed in a strange world, and said friends all have amnesia). Starting character Bop-Louie has little other than a jump, a divekick of sorts, and a charge attack, and your first two recovered friends don’t add much (other than Shades’ floaty jump), but once Bop-Louie gets a wall-suction maneuver, the game completely opens up. Climbing random walls or descending into pits not only reveals the usual one-off items and upgrades but often full new areas as well, including the final area of the game, which could theoretically be stumbled into on accident long beforehand. By the time you get Gil, the free-swimming final character, you should already have an item that gives you the location of almost every important item on the map, and it’s your job to roam around cleaning up unfinished business until you have three specific items that will take you into the final boss’s chambers. The small world already doesn’t take much effort to move around in, but shortcuts will become apparent as you play with each character’s movement abilities, and adding Gil to the party lets you access underground aqueducts that let you jump all over the map.
A group of veterans with credits on both Namco’s Ridge Racer and Sega AM3’s Sega Rally, the short-lived studio Sega Rosso plopped this into arcades at the turn of the millennium just after their back-to-back titles NASCAR Racing and Star Wars Racer Arcade. This side project, Cosmic Smash, is coolly minimalist in its series of abstract corridors and translucent blocks, all of which melt to black at the end of each level within the veneer of an interstellar subway tunnel. The equally minimal HUD contains only a timer in skewed perspective beside the player character. Each hallway area features a series of blocks at the opposite end from the player that they must hit with a ball and racket.1 Upon destroying all colored blocks in an area, the player gains some bonus time and heads off to the next section, perhaps laid out in wireframe green, or seemingly floating in a white void.
I’m reluctant to do the full-throated condemnation of the expanded toolkit here because, outside of a comparison against the NES Castlevanias, it’s still restrained. Simon doesn’t move particularly fast, his jump height is fixed, and he still can’t jump off of stairs. The Ghost ’n Goblins games had presented more significant challenge with looser handling and free, rapid-fire projectiles, but they also leaned into dynamic enemies and random placements. Super Castlevania IV doesn’t just tack the other way on this, it falls short of even the game it’s ostensibly reimagining. Skeletons usually stay glued to the ground and move slower, and Medusa heads seem to not track the player at spawn time, to the extent that they often appear in places where they would never get close to grazing Simon. Enemies that do get spammed in every level, such as axe knights, skele-dragons, and skull cannons, all lack tools to chase down the player or prevent them from hitting from below, while the agile hunchbacks and dogs from the original game appear rarely or not at all. Arguably this game would have been improved if it was a 1:1 recreation of Castlevania with the new additions, using the original game’s enemy balance and AI rather than this neutered update.
Thoughts on the value/function of time limits and why they seem to have gone out of fashion in mainstream gaming?
The simple answer is that time limits were popularized through arcade games, which needed them for practical reasons.1 The arcade as a game distribution concept has diminished significantly in prevalence from its heyday, so the need for the technique has disappeared.
An oddball Fromsoft-esque title with a similar sort of interplay between loadout, upgrade currency, and death mechanics. You play as a robot that can be equipped with weapons/armor on your head, arms, chest, and legs. Pressing the corresponding face button uses the equipment mapped to that body part, although the leg equipment is exclusively passive (the cross button is mapped to your chest). Using equipment raises the heat gauge for that body part, and when the gauge is full, the equipment is disabled until the gauge has fully drained. There is also a total usage limit for each weapon, which more or less acts as ammo. Double-tapping in any direction causes a roll or dash with full i-frames, each of which raises the legs’ heat gauge. The game is arranged into a series of floors in a tower, with the full eradication of enemies on each floor leading to a boss fight with a portal to the next floor. There’s a single place to save, restore one’s health/ammo, upgrade player stats, equip weapons, and change areas at the center of each floor. Upgrades to health, defense, maximum heat gauge, and weapon slots are conducted via “elixir skin” you receive from killing enemies or “restoring” (selling) equipment. Killing enemies occasionally drops weapons as well, with certain weapon “combos” activating “overkill” after death that supposedly raises the drop rate. Upon death, the player is sent to the first floor of the tower with all active equipment permanently lost, although all previously opened portals remain.
A recent Maximilian Dood video on the topic of “friction” in games came across my feed the other day and really concisely laid out (on accident) the mess of concepts that friction has come to embody. To explain the issue of “absence of friction” in Monster Hunter Wilds, he pulls up a separate clip of fellow YouTuber Shroud talking about the lack of friction in extraction shooters post-Escape from Tarkov. Here’s one example he gives:
