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Ninjitsu and the Art of Repetitive Suicide

I realize I am late to the party on these things, but I just recently discovered N, a well-made little Flash game that has driven better men than I to the brink of insanity. At first, it barely made a dent in my schedule. But slowly, the clever level designs and the huge payoff of the simple control scheme drew me in. So here I am, bleary-eyed from listening to the entire Girl Talk album during my latest round of spectacular deaths. The combination almost lobotomized me. But I have come back to the Blog before I pass out to rattle off some thoughts about failure and replay in games.

N_Game.jpg

Make no mistake; this game starts out simple, but it quickly becomes a tightrope walk. The folks behind N are of the New Old School.... the school that believes that, until a player is perfectly in lockstep with the design, they SHALL NOT PASS. Punishment is the central game mechanic of N, as much a control as the shift and arrow keys that map to your carefully tuned run and jump.

I am not very good. I have died hundreds of times, and beaten a small triangle of the levels. But I keep playing, in part because I am fascinated by the Process of playing N. Most levels don't give you the comfort of processing the environment around you consciously. It's like a round of Guitar Hero: you need to react before you can think, and if you can achieve success, its magical.

n-ninja2.jpg

While my reactions eventually and inevitably led me astray, I noticed an interesting pattern. On my first pass of the level, I'd stay alive at least twice as long as I did on any subsequent attempt. And if I didn't beat the level on my first try, it would take me at least ten tries after that to clear it.

When a level was new to me, I was good. I could see everything in my vicinity, and while I couldn't respond perfectly, I could usually work my way through the lasers, machine guns, missiles and drones. After a few tries, however, I started to develop preconceptions about optimal paths. I knew where the switches I needed to reach were, and I was inpatient to find the best and quickest way to reach them. I knew how to traverse certain dangerous spots, but in the process of my manuevers I'd either cut my stunts too close or forget about some other element (such as a loose robot wandering in my direction). And so I'd not only die, but run, headfirst to my demise in a way that would have been totally unnatural on my first time through.

n_ninja3.jpg

I've heard the popular wisdom that children's brains are more "elastic" than adults. I can't speak to the biology behind that claim, and I'm sure there's something there. But N served as an object lesson that convinced me that the dichotomy of "elastic thinking" and "rigid thinking" is not age-determinant, but experience-determinant. As more-or-less-adults, we are constantly experiencing familiar situations, for which we by now believe we have optimal strategies. Usually these strategies serve us, though once in a while a situation is not as we believe it to be, and we run straight into a land mine, wishing, as we pick the gravel out of our teeth, that we could have "thought outside the box" a little more.

It strikes me that I enjoyed N... but what I REALLY enjoyed were my first passes, the sense of being in a completely new environment, and the adrenaline rushing of figuring the space out on the fly. The process of "beating" the level in an optimal way was not rewarding... it was simply my problem-solving instinct after the insult of defeat. It's the first passes, the elastic play-throughs, that really stretch my brain... they're the reason I play games.

What does it take to keep a game feeling fresh, to keep players aware of their environment through challenge and stimulation while still allowing them enough leeway for elastic, fun play?

Exhibit B:

mario_galaxy.jpg

Comments (2)

ndef [TypeKey Profile Page]:

What if the levels were randomly generated - at least enough that you didn't have the benefit of these preconceptions when going in? Would that make the game better, because it gives you the first-pass experience every time you play? Or would the frustration of never getting a second shot at a level that you were *so close* to beating drive you crazy? N is a pretty hardcore game - or at least it's the kind of game that I couldn't play for more than a few minutes - so I'm not entirely sure what the answer is.

Ditto the experience of playing Guitar Hero on expert, although I'm familiar enough to know what you mean when you talk about reacting before you can think. After a few times through a song on expert, though, do you start learning what to expect, and memorizing bits of the tricky parts? Or is it just coming at you so damn fast that you still can't process it?

Jamie Antonisse [TypeKey Profile Page]:

Good questions, tricky answers: Because of the way I play games, because of my Me Vs Challenge competitive instinct, the inability to play a level twice would drive me crazy. However the experience of playing a level again and again is a deadening one.

This holds true for Guitar Hero as well. If I'm playing a song over and over (Psychobilly Freakout comes to mind) I can eventually train my hands into the patterns and bludgeon my way to victory, but I won't enjoy the experience. The better path (and the path less taken) is to PUT THE SONG DOWN, maybe even put the game down, play some other songs that I find marginally challenging, then return to the offending tune with fresh eyes and slightly more dextrous fingers.

The organic ramping-up of challenge is a difficult feat, and I'm sure the acceptable slope is different for different players. Some games have roadblocks... N is a game composed almost ENTIRELY of roadblocks. Is that part of its charm? I'm not sure. I just know that I can look back on Mario Galaxy fondly as a memorable experience, while my memories of N are not of the game itself, but of my brief sparks of triumph and my long cold loathing for laser drones.

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This page contains a single entry from the blog posted on November 26, 2007 1:50 AM.

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