It’s buried under about seven layers of menus and options, nestled between an equally inane entries for ocelots and wild pigs, and it’s a description of a goddamn turtle.

The game industry is in a strange place in 2013, and it’s leading to a problem where AAA games with AAA budgets aren’t able to sustain themselves with AAA sales. Crystal Dynamic’s Tomb Raider (which was incidentally one of the best titles of 2013) sold over four million copies in its first few months on the shelves, but that just wasn’t enough for publisher Square-Enix. The Final Fantasy publisher failed to hit its projections for the first half of 2013, and blamed Tomb Raider, Sleeping Dogs, and Hitman: Absolution (all of which sold a few million copies). Four million copies was “far weaker than we ever imagined,” according to Square Enix president Yoichi Wada.

Thing is, games have gotten so big that making $160 million in the first few months (Source: me multiplying $40 and four million in an attempt to figure out how much Tomb Raider made because that kind of information isn’t actually available) simply isn’t enough. We’ve stumbled into a strange territory, where expectations for sales are so colossal that every game needs to make all of the money in order for anyone to be happy–but all of the games can’t make all of the money. A great game doing extremely well isn’t enough, and the reason is starting to become clear: games are too full of descriptions of goddamn turtles.

Let’s think of it from a budgeting point-of-view. Ubisoft already needs to pay a concept artist to sketch the goddamn turtle, a 3D artist to model the goddamn turtle, a texture artist to paint colors onto the goddamn turtle, a texture mapper to put that texture on the goddamn turtle, an animator to make the goddamn turtle move, a sound engineer to record audio of a real goddamn turtle, and a coder to implement the goddamn behavior of the goddamn turtle. And then, after all is said and done, someone was paid to write “The Caribbean basin provides an excellent climate for both land and sea turtles. Turtles are reptiles with a hard, protective upper shell called a carapace. All turtles breathe air and lay eggs on land.” Ubisoft’s enjoying a yearly ride with Assassin’s Creed, and each is apparently doing well enough to justify sliding wrist-mounted knives into the necks of conspiring Europeans on an annual basis, but still, is this really necessary?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m genuinely delighted there are turtles in the game. Scrambling onto a Caribbean beach and seeing a sea turtle–with its hard, protective upper shell–provides me with a definite sense of immersion. And it’s a really good turtle as far as turtles go, totally top-notch; AAA work from a developer known for it’s AAA products. But, seriously, does anyone need to know about how land and sea turtles thrive in the Caribbean climate? The fact that all turtles breathe air and lay eggs on the land isn’t going to enhance my experience in the least, and yet, it added to the budget. Someone had to research this, write this, edit this, and put it in the game. And then QA testers had to make sure it didn’t run off the page or anything. This turtle’s description was serious business.

It’s one thing to have attention to detail; I don’t think anyone is going to complain about that. Finding out that someone researched the exact color of smoke that should come off of that specific torch is a commitment to realism that will help games become more respected as an art form.

But there’s a difference between attention to detail and a culture of excess, and this sort of thing is as good an example of excess as any. Gamers want good games, and they want big games, and they want big, good games, but there are definitely some areas that could have the fat trimmed off. I’m thinking I know where to start: goddamn turtles.

You know that kid at parties who talks too much? Drink in hand, way too enthusiastic, ponderously well-educated in topics no one in their right mind should know about? Loud? Well, that kid’s occasionally us. GR Editorials is a semi-regular feature where we share our informed insights on the news at hand. Sharp, funny, and finger-on-the-pulse, it’s the information you need to know even when you don’t know you need it.

The post Whats killing AAA gaming? Goddamn turtles appeared first on Game News.

Why? I’ve already said it: I own you. Battlefield’s dogtag system is one of the few ways to keep a permanent record of the enemies that you’ve taken down in a multiplayer game. Not only do you get to cycle through the tags you’ve collected, occasionally laughing at the Gamertag / PSN ID / Origin ID that someone has chosen for themselves (seriously, were there 3 other players called ‘xxJuStIcE_Lrdxx’, so you went for xxJuStIcE_Lrdxx4’. Individuality FTW, right?), but you also recall memories of a specific session. In other words: you remember how you got the tag.

One of my favourite tag steals was in Bad Company 2 (opens in new tab), Arica Harbour map. It was a game of Rush, I was defending the second phase (in the town) and I got picked off by the same camping asshole four times, as he sat in the rocks on the hillside, not helping his team win. I was furious. I was determined to claim his tag. So I spent ages sneaking around the bottom edge of town, keeping away from conflict, getting myself in a position to strike. Asshole Recon was being kept alive by a Medic, who I dispatched quietly before finally claiming my nemesis’ dogtag and the tag of his asshole friend, also camping in the same rocks. Triple dogtag get.

That’s the only time I killed this guy. He outscored me 4-1. But he never got my tag, and I claimed his, gloriously. It’s something I’ll remember long after he’s forgotten that match. While it’s no real achievement on my behalf, it’s a memory I still have from a game that gave me many happy hours of multiplayer carnage. It’s a lasting token of enjoyment from a moment of superiority. That’s the essence of the dogtag system.

Other online shooters, like Call of Duty, simply don’t offer that kind of recall. They’re impersonal experiences that ask you to constantly kill as you try to fill up a near-infinite XP progression system. To me, its just meaningless grind and other players are digital meat–they may as well be smart AI bots who occasionally fling blood-curdling racist / homophobic slurs at you. When you’re playing online the idea is that you’re pitting your skills either directly against (or in cooperation with) other human players. But you rarely get the sense of that, unless you’re in squads with real friends. Until, that is, you outsmart an opponent in Battlefield and get close enough to claim his or her ‘tags. If you’re really lucky, you’ll make them mad enough to seek revenge and that’s when the very human micro-battles begin. They come back for you, they seek you out on the battlefield. Can you think of any other in-game reward that triggers such strong human emotions? They’re few and far between.

In more recent iterations of Battlefield, DICE has added extra details to the dogtag system. You can add specialist tags to indicate where your skills and interests lie (are you a headshot expert, a tank killer, a provider of endless ammo?), and in BF4 that personalisation is even deeper. There’s even a more elaborate animation that sees you aggressively ripping the tag off your enemy’s neck as you end their life with a blade. I hope you’ll forgive me for skimming over the moral implications of this one–it’s just a game, and that’s definitely a separate editorial.

The Beta also shows off the ability to indicate what country you’re from, and there are loads more ‘skill’ tags to unlock too. The more information you choose to share only increases my desire to claim your tag. I want to know how you play, where you’re from, and if you’re better at Battlefield than me. Taking any dogtag is enjoyable… taking one from a player significantly higher ranked than you is a rare thrill.

While I’m no fan of the new knife counter-kill system, which allows you to counter a knife kill with the simple tap of a button, I can appreciate the added dimension it brings to dogtag collecting. If you don’t hit a player completely by surprise (essentially, from behind–so no random melee charging in BF4, folks), you could lose your tag to them. You feel stupid, clumsy. You may even lose the game by giving your life away cheaply at a key moment, instead of just hosing your enemy with a burst of carbine fire. Moreover, you have to really want to collect a player’s tag. Counter-kills have made it even more personal.

So keep your special golden guns and bizarre new character outfits–the only in-game collectable I really want is hanging around your neck, and somewhere out there I’m waiting to claim it. Again… only if you’re playing Battlefield.

You know that crazed dogtag collector at parties who talks too much? Drink in hand, way too enthusiastic, ponderously well-educated in topics no one in their right mind should know about? Loud? Well, that guy’s occasionally us. GR Editorials is a semi-regular feature where we share our informed insights on the news at hand. Sharp, funny, and finger-on-the-pulse, it’s the information you need to know even when you don’t know you need it.

The post Why Battlefields dogtags are the most satisfying rewards in video games appeared first on Game News.

OK, results may vary on this one. The year is 2004, and I’m late to the PlayStation 2 party (blame: EverQuest). My roommates and I are poor, finishing up our last year at Ohio State, and poor. We live in a cinderblock mansion. Three floors of verticality; the living room and kitchen on ground level, two rooms and a bathroom on the second floor, the same on the third. It’s November, and I have just purchased the hot new hot, Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, alongside the PS2. My roommate, Buzz, has the TV; I’m with games; Dirty owns the backpack; and Try Hard, well, she’s the one with the car. Most of these details are important, I swear.

San Andreas is good. I don’t need to tell you that, and even if I did need to, I couldn’t possibly convey its genius right here and now in this article. What I’ll say is that for that bright, beautiful week, Columbus’ clouds and dreariness and coldness and dullness ceased to exist. Mostly because we never left the living room, thus rendering the outside world moot. There was only CJ and his bicycle, Los Santos and its stars.

But, as you tend to learn in college, life can become terrible at a moment’s notice. I’ve named Dirty as I have here not because he’s a crook, but because he’s the single most filthy, slovenly, irresponsible human being I’ve ever met. I lived with the guy for four years (blame: EverQuest), and in that time, I don’t recall him ever throwing anything away. We moved three times, and still he never threw anything away. Walking into his room was to wade into a knee-high midden heap. He never washed his socks; he simply bought new ones when the old became so sodden with sweat and grime that they maintained their shape when he removed them from his feet. I literally found a sock on the floor that was still in the shape of his foot! Just a stiff tube! (Come to think of it, the shape may have been due to a different reason… oh God, I touched it!)

But I digress. Dirty had a way of leaving the front door unlocked whenever he came home, despite being reminded on a near-daily basis not to do so, because, you know, crime-infused college town. But Dirty being Dirty came home late one night after we’d had the game for a week, left the door unlocked, and when Try Hard awoke at around 7 a.m., heard someone rummaging about on the ground floor. She thought it was me–I have no idea why–and went to class, oblivious. Try Hard comes home a few hours later, notices the missing TV, screams–I have no idea why. The rest of us wake up, head downstairs, and scream–at Dirty, for being such a lousy asshole and leaving the door unlocked yet again.

We take stock. My beautiful, new PS2 is gone, of course, as is the Xbox and myriad games. Buzz’s TV has been pinched. The thief rifled through Dirty’s backpack, dumped its contents on the floor, and then, presumably, loaded it up with my stuff. Try Hard, though. Try Hard is smug. “Haha,” she says. “What have I told you boys about playing with your toys in the living room?”

And then, two hours later, “Hey, has anyone seen my car keys?”

Want to play as the famed composer Frederic Chopin? Play Eternal Sonata!

Looking for stuff to play outside of the stuff we already tell you to play on a daily basis? You’re in luck! Every Saturday we’ll recommend an older game for you to check out, complete with a story on how we found the game and why we recommend you play it.

The post Want to experience actual grand theft auto? Play GTA: San Andreas! appeared first on Game News.

Now, when I use the term “rip off,” don’t mistake it for games that share a genre. If that were the case, every 2D platformer rips off Super Mario Bros (opens in new tab), every other puzzle game is a counterfeit of Tetris (opens in new tab), and any 3D fighting game ripped off Virtua Fighter (opens in new tab) (which, in turn, stole its fighting style from Street Fighter (opens in new tab)). No, what I mean is games that have such clear, specific inspirations that you can be sure it wouldn’t exist in its current form if it didn’t lift gameplay techniques wholesale from the games that pioneered them. And in many cases that’s completely forgivable.

Just look at last week’s release of Sleeping Dogs (opens in new tab), a game that wears its influences on its sleeve. Beyond the sandbox trappings firmly established by Grand Theft Auto III, the hand-to-hand combat is straight from the Batman: Arkham games (opens in new tab) and fans of Wheelman (opens in new tab) will recognize the source of hijacking cars. But listing influences ultimately doesn’t matter, because Sleeping Dogs executes so well on what it rips off, something many of the reviews (opens in new tab), including GamesRadar’s (opens in new tab), agree on.

You need only look back to 2010 for another perfect example of execution outpacing obvious inspirations. When the original Darksiders (opens in new tab) came out, more than a few knocked it for being a Legend of Zelda clone, something I’ll agree with despite loving the game. The dungeon structure was the same, they share sword-based combat, and exploration incorporates tools identical to boomerangs and hookshots. For extra uninspired credit, Darksiders also contains a weapon that shoots orange and blue portals. Seriously (opens in new tab).

Once I got over my reflexively negative reaction to the seeming lack of any originality in Darksiders, I settled into the game and found myself continually impressed by it. The developers had learned well from Zelda. Over and over again Darksiders proved it didn’t merely copy and paste from Link’s adventures, it had studied them closely. Developer Vigil Games skillfully implemented those lessons to give tribute to the games of their youth. And then Vigil went on to iterate further on these inspirations, delivering the even better (and more original) game in Darksiders II (opens in new tab).

The same pride in unoriginality was on display in Shadow Complex (opens in new tab). Developer Chair was open about its inspirations (opens in new tab), copping to lifting design strategies of Super Metroid (opens in new tab). Like Darksiders, you can tell it comes from a place of love and admiration, out to fill a niche Nintendo created and few outside of Castlevania (opens in new tab) had tried to fill. Chair, like Vigil, then took the gameplay and added aesthetics and story content that the originators didn’t approach, making for a game that people accepted with open arms. Shadow Complex continually shows up on best XBLA games (opens in new tab) lists and many are clamoring for a sequel.

There are so many examples of games I hold dear that may not blaze a new trail, but were outstanding all the same. Would Rhythm Thief exist without Professor Layton? Saints Row without GTA? Dante’s Inferno without God of War? League of Legends without Dota? Or Torchlight without Diablo? All of those are worth your time no matter how you feel about what they took from their sources.

The added irony of Kamiya’s statement is that he doesn’t need to look far to see the power of a brilliant rip off. Platinum’s Bayonetta (opens in new tab) is clearly inspired by Devil May Cry, though most would forgive that since many former DMC devs worked on the title. But few could argue that Okami would exist without Zelda’s 3D titles. Just like Darksiders, Okami closely shadowed the Zelda template, but used it tell a story all its own. It’s an unforgettable game thanks to all the ways it learned from and expanded on another franchise’s strengths. Instead of calling out those games as deceptive, gamers lauded Okami as a work of art and Platinum has quickly become one of the most respected companies in its field.

Believe me, artless re-creations and flagrant stealing can, and definitely should, be called out and given the lack of respect they deserve. Look at the negativity that met Limbo of the Lost (opens in new tab), a game that mirrored Oblivion in all the wrong ways. Then there’s Facebook heavyweight Zynga, which has been rightly accused multiple times for blatant theft of titles like Tiny Tower (opens in new tab) and The Sims Social (opens in new tab). However, give a game a chance to prove itself a sham. Just because Battle Royale’s inspiration is clear from the outset doesn’t mean it’s fate has been decided. Gamers should first take a deep breath and remember all the great times they had with “rip offs.” It worked for me.

You know that kid at parties who talks too much? Drink in hand, way too enthusiastic, ponderously well-educated in topics no one in their right mind should know about? Loud? Well, that kid’s occasionally us. GR Editorials is a semi-regular feature where we share our informed insights on the news at hand. Sharp, funny, and finger-on-the-pulse, it’s the information you need to know even when you don’t know you need it.

The post Its ok to be a rip off (as long as youre good at it) appeared first on Game News.