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Number twelve:
I got a phone call from the people who continue to hound me today about my college debts. I got that call shortly after beginning a game of Animal Crossing.
I wrote about it in my little feature .
What makes Animal Crossing so memorable, perhaps, was the oddity of that moment.
As for the rest of my experience with the game . . . I haven't played it much more than a few hours in the past three months. My house is infested with bugs. It's as big as can be, yeah. I just . . . can't be bothered anymore, to worry about the turnip market.
I can respect Animal Crossing for its innovation. It's just not my kind of game. Whatever sequels may come won't move me; it will forever not be the kind of game for me.
Yet . . . we really had a good week together, didn't we?
And here, I'd always thought Animal Crossing was my kind of thing. Yeah, and I'd loved Shenmue until just recently -- when, in Shenmue II, I was required to press left and right numerous times in angry succession to avoid falling off a wooden plank.
The goal of the mission is to reach the top of a dilapidated apartment building so you can see some kung-fu master. On the way up, you have to balance across these planks. You have ten floors of planks to cross. Miss one button press, and you have to start over.
These quick button-presses, which result in a quick on-screen action, are called "Quick-Time Events." Normally, the on-screen result includes my hero Ryo Hazuki punching, kicking, or dodging a punch or a kick. Normally, the surroundings are lively Hong Kong streets. Normally, if you miss, it alters the causes and effects of the future button-presses.
Not in the case of this ten-floor building. You miss once, you die. What you're doing is not a QTE-battle: it's QTE-walking.
Shenmue II includes several "street-fighting" tournaments in which Ryo can earn money. The back of the case boasts that Ryo has access to hundreds of moves . . . or something. It's not like it matters -- just about all of the battles require you to run from your enemy, or avoid being thrown, or throw your enemy once. The battles are inane little puzzles rather than contests that take advantage of the depth of the game's fighting system.
This is sluggish game design, and my brain feels all sticky because of it. I can't care about a game like this. I lost patience with Shenmue II halfway through; continuing was a terrific chore.
Don't worry -- I still like Ryo Hazuki.
I've just lost patience with his world. I don't want to talk to the people anymore. I don't want to look in the stores.
No the voices are not funny anymore. Not by a long shot.
In 2002, I became harder to please. Even Jet Set Radio Future's molasses gameplay disappointed me gravely despite my love and acquaintance with all things regarding its music.
Still, in the end, even its music made me grit my teeth. It's true -- if you would have told me in 1997 that one day a videogame would come along and make me hate Cibo Matto's "Birthday Cake," I would have punched you in the throat. Even though I got it for $10 at Blockbuster, it disappointed me annoyingly.
I became harder to please. And more critical.
I guess that might be a good thing.
[next: number eleven: you wanna play tough, rough guy?]
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