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November 17, 2007

Paper Mario / Super Paper Mario

So - I was in the midst of my Space Giraffe frenzy when I felt a bit of a lull - I wanted to try something a bit different (that's not to say the the Giraffe isn't different; in some ways, it's the very definition of the word. But you know what I mean). Something drew me down to the Wii, sadly neglected in the last few months; I turn it on and start browsing the Virtual Console for ideas. Super Metroid? Nah - too intense. A Link to the Past? Mmmmmaybe. But then I saw the answer to my gaming blues - Paper Mario.

A brief aside - when I clicked the "Buy" button in the Virtual Console shop, I was an RPG virgin. The nearest I had got to anything RPG-like was Deus Ex and, though there are certain tactical advantages to be had in that game, it's hardly the poster child for the Role-Players. So hearing that Paper Mario was a soft-RPG had me both eager and excited: I was entering the outskirts of a new genre.

And bugger me if I didn't start smiling the moment I started playing Paper Mario. And kept smiling for the next forty hours. From the simple charm of the eponymous graphics - flat, 2D graphics, sliding and flipping their way through a cheeringly colourful 3D world - to the gigglingly twee storyline, even the N64-era jolly chip tunes... Paper Mario was a wonderfully addictive experience, one of those games that you almost don't want to end.

I loved the turn-based combat. I loved the side quests. I loved the level-up mechanisms... I loved levelling up. I loved the level interludes that had you guiding the imprisoned Princess Peach around. I loved that shady chap who you could pay to switch your levels around. I loved the small puzzle elements. I loved kicking the shit out of that massive Koopa bastard, and I loved serving the whims of the cranky Koopa. I loved all the characters, both incidental and sidekick. I loved just wandering around talking to people. I loved weighing up the pros and cons of each of the three abilities: Health Points, Flower Points, and Badge Points. I loved letting my OCD kick in and collecting Badges. I love the trek through the final level. And I'm going to love going back and trying out all the recipes.

And most of all, I loved the way this game makes me feel. Cute and perky, tongue-in-cheek, never taking itself seriously, never letting a joke run too long - you've always got a smile on your face, and the Game Over screen is never glowered at. It's perfectly pitched, wonderfully weighted, and I can't wait for my memory to fade so I can play it again.

And so, after 40 gorgeous hours of Paper Mario (including the fantastic end sequence with a glorious, if largely inconsequential, side-battle that actually made me jump and yell "take THAT Kammy Koopa, you fat fucking shithead!") I thought that the new Wii chapter of the series - Super Paper Mario - would be a sure bet. I was expecting sharper graphics (the N64 incarnation, bless it, suffered a little from Fuzzy Chunk-O-Vision), a bit more depth (after all, the original was a mere 40 megabytes!), but basically more of the same.

I would've been happy with that.

Woulda, shoulda, coulda.

How terribly wrong I was. Almost as soon as the game started up for the first time. Yep, the sharp graphics were there, but what's with the overly sentimental opening every time I start the game? And the jarring jaunty tune that follows it?

And where's my bloody turn-based combat?

Harrumph.

Super Paper Mario is indebted to the previous Paper Marios in terms of graphic style, and to earlier traditional platform-based Mario games for play mechanics. Unfortunately, the RPG elements that so entranced me have been simplified to such an extent that they're no longer challenging, nor enjoyable. Levelling up is score-based, automatic, completely out of the player's hands. There's no decisions to be made, few side quests to pursue. The much-vaunted flip into the third-dimension feels gimmicky, and its use is either bluntly telegraphed or horribly forced.

The ancillary characters, so wonderfully realised in the first Paper Mario, were gone - replaced by a bunch of non-dimensional, characterless, half-witted SQUARES that jiggle around pretending to be the inhabitants of Flip/Flopside. Geez, they shit me to tears - so utterly, utterly un-engaging, their presence actually made me feel more lonely... even whilst traipsing around this paper world in a party of four that includes Mario's brother, lover, and nemesis (another jarring decision). Boss battles are mildly interesting, but more often than not are either a battle of persistence or (once you cycle through the characters to determine the most effective offensive option) a walkover.

To be honest, by the time I entered Chapter 5 I was almost praying for this game to end. Yes, I finished it; yes, I succumbed to OCD and performed all the post-game snippets - recipe collecting (spent aaaaages trying to find one more dribble of Inky Sauce), card collecting (ggggnnnnnnnnn), the Flipside Pit Of 100 Trials, the Sammer Guy Showdown (another 100 battles), the Flopside Pit Of 100 Trials - twice. And now, it's over - and I couldn't be happier.

Now, I've never played the original Super Mario RPG, nor have I played the Gamecube iteration of the series (The Thousand-Year Door, which apparently merges the turn-based combat system with cleared graphics); so any criticism of the series as a whole would be suspect at best, and more likely completely misguided. But I get scared when an earlier game plays so incredibly well, but later games rub me entirely the wrong way (see also Metroid Prime and its direct sequel). Here's hoping the 3D Mario series doesn't turn out the same way - even though I've barely scratched the surface of Super Mario 64, I can tell it's a stone-cold classic; and I want Super Mario Galaxy to have the same impact.

Super Paper Mario is a mild curiosity, entertaining at best, dull action-grinding at worst; the original Paper Mario is a life-changer. There's your capsule review.

November 10, 2007

Shitpig

November 09, 2007

Space Giraffe : Final

So - job's a good 'un, then.

My final Space Giraffe task - to at least equal my pre-update level scores - is complete. A surprisingly hard slog, too, but such was the joy of Super Ox Mode.

"Super Ox Mode," you say? Yep - when you ERROR_SUCCESS (beat level 100 for the first time) you also unlock the ability to play the Giraffe in a far more aggressive manner. I start Super Ox Mode by holding down the Y-button whilst I hit the A-button on the pre-Level select screen.

What's Super Ox Mode all about, then? Well, it's harder - from just-a-smidgeon-harder to completely-fucking-impossible. First up - enemies nearly always get an upgrade. Passive grunts start shooting, feedback monsters become aggressive feedback monsters, dull ploddy boffins become aggressive boffins. Apart from that, the waves stay pretty much the same.

...but the webs do not. They're still the 100 webs we know and love, but every time you get a "New Start Bonus Set" (or somesuch) message, their order is randomised. So you play Level 1 and face the simple Level 1 waves on the heinous Level 53 web, or you might select Level 100 and be presented with an easier, circular web. Or it might go pear-shaped, and you've still got the Level 100 waves on the Level 64 web. Christ that was bad.

Anyway...

The lovely, score-maximising potential of Super Ox Mode mainly comes from the extra bullets the aggressive enemies lob your way. Juggling bullets is an incredible score maximiser; each time you bounce a bullet back by shooting it, you seem to add more "value" to it; the next time you juggle it, it appears to net more points. So with a fleet of bullets hovering at the end of the web that you can keep at bay with careful sweeping, and a friendly rotor hovering at the other side of the web, it's possible to get some massive scores on seemingly insignificant levels.

Of course, the random allocation of the webs is a bit of a bastard; what I did was to ascertain whether the web currently allocated to my Level-of-focus was doable. If not, I'd drop back to normal mode and get another Start Bonus Set, inching the score up slightly; when I got a "good" web, I'd sweat on it until I thought I had it nailed. Remember - as soon as you see that "New Start Bonus Set" message in either mode, it'll randomise the Super Ox Mode webs again; so, if I felt I could rinse the level better, I'd quit the game before the message appears at the start of the next level.

By the time I'd finished, my score of 857,640,088 had me second on the world rankings. Of course, the score above me was over 2 billion, and the score below me was a touch over 800 million... at level 76. So there's obviously massive opportunities to snaffle even more points; but for me, the Giraffe is done.

And it was a wonderful, wonderful ride :)

November 07, 2007

Achievements

Coincidences are weird, aren't they?

I've just finished getting my final Achievement for Dig Dug and, in between pumping my fist into the air in triumph, started drifting through the gaming-news-of-the-day.

I spot an article by fellow Aussie Luke Plunkett on Kotaku: I'm Free of my Achievement Complex. It seems that, due to a minor snafu with multiple accounts, he lost about 6,000 GS of Achievements.

Ouch. Double ouch, with a stabbing on top.

But, rather than being mad as hell (as I would have been in that position... after I dammed the river of tears, anyway), Plunkett saw it as a liberation, a chance to be rid of the Curse of unachieved Achievements. Which I can kind of appreciate: I'd trade a kidney - and probably a testicle - to have not had Astro Pop grace my Gamer Card.

Back to the coincidence - during my Space Giraffe scoring spree, I thought a quick blast of Dig Dug was a good palate-cleanser. Coincidentally enough, I'd only bought Dig Dug during another Giraffe break because (a) it was a mere 200 MS Points, and (2) I still harboured some guilt from having a dodgy copy on the C64 all those years ago. The night I bought it, a quick game or two gave a lazy 8 (of 12) Achievements - but a bit of research revealed that one of the remaining Achievements, "Dig", was... well, a bit of a bitch, frankly. Tales of woe exist everywhere - whinges about failures to unlock were countered with helpful tips and "works for me"-isms which were subsequently followed by more whinges and threats that Microsoft had better fix this game or else.

Anyway...

I finally returned to Dig Dug, and was adamant that my brand spanking new Hori EX2 Arcade Stick would provide oodles of assistance (as opposed to the deservedly-maligned 360 controller D-pad). An hour or two of frustration later (much musing over whether it was better to tackle Level 1 with two Pookas, or Level 2 with two Fygars), and the Achievement was mine. The remaining collect-em-up Achievements quickly followed, and Dig Dug was complete - ticked off the To-Do List, probably never to be played again.

But the fact remains that I had returned to it, and the only reason why was because of those outstanding Achievements. For the O/C Gamer, it makes it very easy to define the extent of the game: get the full allotment of GS, tick the game off - it's done. Which is, in a way, much easier to handle than something like "complete the game on every skill level, collecting every item, one-handed". Sometimes Achievements set the bar low - Dig Dug's item collection is a rudimentary "completion", at best, and EDF 2017's brace of tasks were just plain thoughtless. Sometimes Achievements are a bit silly - 1 point for Bullet Witch's Hell Mode? Nearly half of Gears of War's points coming from ranked online matches? People attempting to subvert ranked online games to speedify their GamerScore plumpification?

But many other cases provide lovingly selected, gameplay-extending ideas. The meta-game targets in Halo 3. Crackdown's grinningly loony little destructive side-quests. Even the Ridge Racer 6 No Crash Victory takes the original game and squeezes it into a new shape, yielding hours more enjoyment.

So - Achievements can be good, and they can be bad. I admit that, if a game is teetering on the edge of purchase, I'll consider at the perceived difficulty of the Achievements before making a decision. But could I turn my back - as Plunkett did - on my gameplay? Hell no. The O/C Gamer requires proof of Achievement, for better or worse - and those lovely little icons and common nomenclature between gamers really hits the spot.

About that coincidence... bugger it, it's in there somewhere. It made sense when I sketched this piece out :}