Nathan Langford – Page 2 – A "Blog" If You Will

Outstanding Games: Castlevania: Symphony of the Night

For my second entry in my Outstanding Games series, I’ve chosen Castlevania: Symphony of the Night. I’ve known for some time that this would be the next entry in the series, but I’ve struggled with how exactly to present it.

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For those who may be unaware, Castlevania is a long-running and successful series of video games, and Symphony of the Night is widely regarded as one of the greatest entries in the series. That said, Symphony of the Night is the only game in the series I’ve played any significant amount of. So I am in the problematic position of looking for something interesting to say on a topic that has been extensively talked about and on which I have a limited knowledge. That said, Symphony of the Night definitely deserves to be on my outstanding games list, and I have very little reputation to destroy by saying something stupid, so I might as well go forward. But before I embarrass myself with an attempt to extol the game’s virtues, I think I’ll give a basic overview of the game for those who are even less informed than I.

Castlevania: Symphony of the Night, like most entries in the series, deals with defeating Dracula. The main character, Alucard, is Dracula’s half-vampire son who hates his vampiric heritage. The entirety of the game takes place within “Castlevania”–Dracula’s magical castle which appears every hundred and which has mysteriously reappeared, even though it just disappeared 4 years ago. Alucard is concerned about this and enters the castle to find out what’s going on.

The gameplay largely consists of exploring the castle, killing monsters, and picking up items that make Alucard more powerful and allow him to access new parts of the castle. The game is a 2-D platformer, with the action consisting of running around, jumping, and hitting things with a sword. This game, by the way, with its emphasis on exploration and character improvement helped to establish a genre which is now called metroidvanias.

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So what is it about Symphony of the Night that makes it stand out? The plot is simple and relatively uninspired, some of the mechanics, such as the magic system, are hideously awkward (enter button combos to do spells, most of which are useless!), much of the game is not particularly well-balanced, with weapons and techniques that make the game easy (there are two of these that I can think of off the top of my head, and if I think a little more, I’m sure I can come up with at least a couple more), and the voice acting is hilariously bad (I love the voice acting, but it’s terrible). That said, there are at least two things about this game that are outstanding.

The first thing that makes this game stand out is the art style. Symphony of the Night has a wonderful Gothic aesthetic. I love Alucard’s pale skin, flowing hair, magnificent cloak and elegant movement. Meanwhile, the backgrounds are rich, with fancy oil lamps and marble walls.

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What stands out to me even more, though, is the exploration aspect of the game. Symphony of the Night is as much about finding items that allow you access to new parts of the castle as it is about killing monsters. There are many times when there will be a part of the castle that can’t be accessed because it’s behind a locked door or past a jump that can’t be made. Then you pick up an item which allows you to double jump or open locked doors, and suddenly large portions of the map that were previously inaccessible open up to you. Added to that, the castle is full of secrets, with hidden rooms and items, all of which gives the game a much greater complexity. But the game’s biggest secret goes far beyond a hidden room or interesting item. While I don’t want to spoil it for anyone who hasn’t played the game but plans to, let me just say that the game is about twice as big as it pretends to be, to the extent that one can finish the game without ever realizing how much more to the game there is.

Finally, of course, Castlevania: Symphony of the Night is fun. It plays well and offers a pleasant diversion. And it has enough extra hidden stuff that if you want to, you can continue to fruitfully play it for a considerable period of time.

The Book of Lies

Far away from any city, in a land dominated by mountain peaks and inhabited largely by goats is a small valley. Completely surrounded by inhospitable mountains, this valley is nevertheless, by some miracle of earth or heaven, a fertile place. A small river runs through the valley before disappearing underground, and there is a grove of wild apple trees. Largely isolated, this vale has few visitors. However, tucked away in this mountainous Eden, there is a building.

Some of the few who know of the valley say that this small wooden structure is as old as the mountains surrounding it—older—and that the mountains themselves are nothing more than a garden wall erected by whatever god first built it. Others say that the humble construction is the house made by our first parents before they left the valley or were driven therefrom. What all agree upon is the building’s ancient origin. Indeed, this solitary structure has been in the valley for as long as the collective memory of song and story.

Whatever the building was when it was first framed, it is now a shrine. The few scattered tribes who know the valley call it holy, and to them the shrine is more—a holy of holies. Every spring for the equinox, the local tribes come together to the valley, where they make sacrifices and celebrate together. They fix whatever damage the shrine has incurred over the past year, and they coat all the beams with a lacquer to prevent future wear. Then, on the night of the equinox, the oldest elder among them enters the shrine. From within a secret hiding place within the shrine, he withdraws a scroll and, standing upon the porch of the shrine, reads aloud from the scroll to all assembled.

The contents of the scroll are marvelous, for this scroll is but one volume of a vast book, each volume of which tells all of the events of a year. The scroll which the elder reads is that of the year which is to come. As the elder reads, all which is to come until the next spring equinox is revealed. He then carefully hides the scroll away and leaves the shrine for another year.

When the elder has finished his reading, a great feast is held, and all assembled drink deeply. As the night wears on, all in the valley grow weary from their revelry and fall into a deep sleep. When they have awoken, then, the events of the previous night, including the reading of the scroll, seem little more than a dream. Their annual ceremony done, the tribes scatter to their individual stretches of mountain.

Some may wonder why, after hearing of the events of the coming year, the people then engage in such revelry as to forget most of it. Many stories are devoted to explaining this. One is about a pair of brothers who were prophesied to kill each other and did so over the revelation. Another story tells about a couple who heard about a mild winter and so didn’t prepare enough.

However, by far the most common explanation is wrapped up in what the tribes round about call the book itself. For among them it is referred to as the Book of Lies. It may seem strange that a book telling all things in history should bear such an appellation. Certainly it might be said that such a book contains more truths than any other. However the tribes name the book not because they disbelieve its words, but for a deeper reason:

The people of these mountains hold to one belief above all others: that no one story can tell the whole truth. And that a book, no matter how complete, can never fully capture what is real. This makes the Book of Lies, by its seeming completeness, more dangerous and, in a way, less truthful than any others.

And yet, they still cannot reject such a sacred gift. So they do what they can: they learn, and then they forget.

My Current Obsession: Over the Garden Wall

A month or two ago, I was introduced to a cartoon with which I fell instantly in love. The title, as you no doubt surmise from the title of this blog entry, is Over the Garden Wall. It’s a 10-episode series with each episode lasting 11 minutes, leading to a total run time of a little under two hours.

Now, I have a cousin–an aspiring moviemaker–who intends to make a movie inspired by Over the Garden Wall, and he asked me a few weeks ago to send him an email wherein I detailed my thoughts about what makes the series so great. As I have thus far been remiss in this duty to my esteemed relative and I flatter myself to believe that my thoughts on the matter may be of interest to a slightly wider audience (not deluding myself as to the readership numbers of this blog), I have decided to put forth my thoughts in this larger forum.

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First let me give a brief background for those who have not had the pleasure of seeing this animated masterpiece. Over the Garden Wall is the story of two brothers, Wirt–a studious, geeky, awkward high schooler– and Greg–a strange, whimsical young child of about six or seven–who have found themselves lost in a magical forest from which they are trying to find their way home. On their way, they encounter many interesting and peculiar characters, some of which assist them in their quest, and some of which hinder them. The basic story idea is nothing new, but it’s a solid premise.

And now that I’ve given that brief introduction, I am faced with the challenge of explaining exactly what’s great about Over the Garden Wall. I’ve sat here for about ten minutes now trying to decide how to proceed, and no clear way has presented itself. So what I’m going to do is describe some of the individual elements that make the show stand out, and hopefully by the end a schema for fitting them all together will show up.

First, I love the animation. I think what I like most about it is the way that it blends styles. For the most part, the characters are animated in what I would characterize as a very modern American animation style, not out of the ordinary for what one would see on Cartoon Network. It’s not a style I’m actually particularly fond of, but it’s done well, and clearly a lot of polishing has been done. Meanwhile, the scenery is beautiful and evokes (to me at least) a German Black Forest vibe. Those are the two main art styles, but there were also some times (particularly in an episode that takes place entirely within a dream) where the art seems to be imitating a much older style of American animation, akin to a colorized Betty Boop or Popeye. And non-talking animals tend to be rendered much more realistically than the human characters. There’s an episode that involves non-anthropomorphic animals that have been dressed up in human clothes, and the effect created by a non-anthropomorphic Opossum wearing overalls sitting next to Greg is both hilarious and disconcerting.

And then there’s the wonderful attention to detail. If the camera is following Wirt, you will always be able to catch glimpses of what Greg is doing in the background, which is usually funny and often winds up being plot-relevant. There’s also an episode where Greg steps in a pumpkin and spends half of the next episode walking around with a weird gait because of the pumpkin still stuck on his foot. The show is full of things like that–little things that show the care the animators took.

Next let me talk about the music. Music plays an important part in Over the Garden Wall. Many of the characters sing, and the songs that they sing provide characterization. Greg, in particular, sings a lot, largely songs of his own devising. The brilliance in Greg’s songs lies in both their eccentric humor and in their low quality. What I mean by that is that the songs, while often catchy and very funny have the sort of odd free association that occurs in songs by real children. Consider the following lines:

Oh potatoes and molasses,

If you want some, Oh just ask us!

They’re warm and soft like puppies and socks

Filled with cream and candy rocks!

These lines, while undeniably funny make only slightly more sense than songs that I have heard real little children make up, which is brilliant on the part of whomever is responsible. The creators managed to make a song that simultaneously sounds like it was written by a child and is something you might actually want to listen to.

Wirt, unfortunately, rarely sings. We see an instance where he tries, but he clearly either never had the skill of whimsical song-weaving or has lost it. His awkward attempt at an off-the-cuff song doesn’t rhyme or scan and misses more notes than it hits. We do learn, though, that he plays the clarinet, and in the one instance where we here him play the bassoon, he does a good job.

Which brings me to characterization. One of the areas where Over the Garden Wall really shines is in its characters. The story specifically focuses, of course, on the two brothers (indeed, I would argue that the main theme of the series is brotherhood–particularly what it means to be an older brother). Hopefully, by now you’ve gotten some idea of what Greg and Wirt are like. Looking at the musical examples we can see some aspects of each of their character. Greg is free-spirited, innocent, and a little strange. Wirt is considerably more constrained and he’s the type of person who plays the clarinet. The incredible thing is that in almost every scene, the creators take an opportunity to cram some characterization in, whether that characterization be Wirt going on about how his life is like “a boat upon a winding river, twisting toward an endless black sea” blah blah blah or Greg coming up with a new name for his frog.

There are also some wonderful side characters. There’s Beatrice, a bluebird who seems to only grudgingly accept her role as the brothers’ guide. There’s the eccentric old tea baron who isn’t sure whether he’s more afraid of the idea that he’s seen a ghost or the idea that he’s going crazy. And there’s the frog, who starts off being named Kitty and winds up being named… but that would spoil it.

I also love the world that has been created. It reminds me of Oz: a series of strange communities with little tying them together, each of which has odd quirks. The second episode features a strange community that uses giant turkeys as draft animals. Another episode has a tavern full of people defined by their professions, each of whom is happy to sing a song about it (including the highwayman).

Which brings me back to the difficulty of bringing this all together. Because what makes this really work is that all of these elements–character, setting, music, art–tie together into a cohesive whole. They all build on each other to create a series with a very definite tone. I would call this union “voice”, but I think it encompasses much more than that. I would call it “world building”, but once again, I think it encompasses more. I am tempted to call it “aesthetic”, but that may give the impression that the whole thing is superficial, when it’s clearly more. Perhaps the word I’m looking for is gestalt, but as I haven’t read extensively about just what “gestalt” is, I’m worried that’s all wrong.

At any rate, the show is good. I’ve heard that sometimes talking things up too much makes people less inclined to look at them, so instead I’ll follow up this gushing praise with “It’s okay, I guess” or maybe “You could give it a watch if you like, but you don’t have to”.

And if anyone can tell me what word I want, please do so.

Outstanding Games: A Boy and His Blob

I’d like to start a new series here on my blog called “Outstanding Games.” First, let me say that I only plan to showcase games that I have personally finished. Second, let me say that the games which I highlight in this series will not all be perfect. Indeed, many of them will be deeply flawed. Likewise, there will be many good games which I do not highlight in this series. However, each of these games will have the common quality that they stand out in some way. The way in which they stand out may be that they have an interesting mechanic or a well-constructed setting or it may be that they simply execute everything well. Regardless, these games are those that I consider in some way “outstanding.” So let’s begin with our first game, A Boy and His Blob.

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Wikipedia tells me that A Boy and His Blob (available for a great many systems) is a “re-imagining” of the Nintendo game A Boy and His Blob: Trouble in Blobolonia. However, since I’m fuzzy on just what, exactly, a “re-imagining” is, (as opposed to a remake or an enhanced remake or a reboot) and furthermore, I’ve never played the original game, I’m going to avoid comment on that aspect of it. (Note how I have cleverly spent a whole paragraph avoiding comment on it. I could probably spend even more paragraphs avoiding talking about it. Don’t try me.)

What I will comment on instead is what makes this game outstanding. The first thing one notices about A Boy and His Blob is its art style. A Boy and His Blob is undeniably cute. And that’s what I’d like to talk about here, because that aesthetic isn’t merely on the surface, but pervades the game as a whole.

The game starts with a blob from outer space landing crash landing in the woods near a young boy’s tree fort. The boy goes to investigate, and the two become fast friends. Soon it is discovered that the blob loves jellybeans and that when the blob eats different colors of jellybeans, he turns into different shapes, from a ladder to a hole in the ground to a parachute. And this is where the core gameplay comes in.

A Boy and His Blob is a 2D platformer. However, most of the game is more concerned with puzzles than with reflexes. There are some times when you have to time things right to avoid hitting spikes or being attacked by an enemy, but most of the time, the focus is on discovering what combination of jellybeans you can feed to the blob to get through the current situation and to the golden jellybean that marks the end of the level. And fortunately, the game is very forgiving. Even when you die, most of the time the game simply starts you back at the beginning of whatever room you happen to be in. There are, admittedly, some times that require hand-eye coordination, particularly in the challenge levels and with bosses, but it never reaches the stress level of more traditional platformers.

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If all of that makes this game sound approachable, that’s because it is. Everything about this game is meant to create a friendly, happy, approachable experience. The graphics are simple and cute, with big eyes, round edges, and soft colors. The boy looks and moves like a little boy to an incredible degree. There’s a button on the controller that has the boy call to the blob to come back to him. The “C’mere!” “Blob!” and sharp whistle that this button elicits are greatly reminiscent of a certain type of bossy young child. And one of the other buttons has no purpose but to give the blob a big hug—a reminder that even the brattiest of kids have moments of heart-melting sweetness.

And that’s the amazing thing about this game. In A Boy and His Blob, almost everything comes together to create a certain type of experience—a certain type of story. And it’s a type of story that will be familiar to anyone who has been a little boy and most who have been little girls, because it’s a story of childhood. It’s the story that as a child you read over and over again: a boy with a startling lack of parental oversight goes on an exciting adventure, meets new friends, faces dangers, triumphs, and returns home again. It’s a story told in Harold and the Purple Crayon, in Where the Wild Things Are, and in countless other children’s books. And it’s a story most of us have lived. It’s not a new story, but it’s well told. And that, in the end, is what matters.

Edit: It has come to my attention that I have written a song about this game. It has some spoilers in it (it retells the whole game), but if you don’t care about that, give it a listen.

An Auspicious Beginning

For this, the inaugural post of A “Blog” If You Will, I feel that I, Nathan Langford, author of Chronicle and longtime trilobite enthusiast, should do something special. Perhaps I could show some pictures of fireworks or of the sadly extinct Golden Toad. Perhaps I could include a midi file playing “Deutschland Über Alles” in double time. But I will not do those things. Instead, I will give a list of some of my favorite words. Enjoy. And feel free to comment with some of your own favorite words.

Gloaming
Circumambulation
Dolmen
Antediluvian
Avarice
Clopen
Portmanteau