I kind of enjoy watching House. It’s extremely formulaic television, but the formula’s pretty satisfying save for those moments at the end of virtually every episode. Y’know — when each character’s feeling pensive and listening to cloying pop music? Yeah…those thirty to forty-five seconds are no good. At any rate, the show works. And, from what I understand, it’s pretty spot on with all the diagnoses and jargon.

Unfortunately, its treatment of video games is patently ridiculous.

Dr. House enjoys gaming; the character’s played a wide variety of systems on and off since season one. He started out with either a Nintendo Game Boy Advance or a Nintendo DS (can’t remember which) before switching to a Sony PlayStation Portable. He’ll even dabble in the PC scene on occasion.

Though House’s little hobby is rarely acknowledged, it’s an undeniable part of the show’s lore. In fact, gaming takes center stage during one early season three episode, “Lines in the Sand.” This particular airing is concerned with sustaining an elaborate and drawn-out comparison between the antisocial, stubborn Dr. House and his severely autistic patient, Adam. To sum it up in gloriously reductive fashion, both are gamers who scream when things change. During the final minutes, they share a moment’s eye contact, and Adam offers Dr. House his portable PlayStation.

Despite my terse summation, it’s great, poignant stuff. But the show is soured a bit by its unrealistic depiction of video game sounds. It’s insulting, both to regular gamers and autistic kids, to translate modern gaming’s sound effects into circa 1980s booping. To me, it’s almost as if House is insisting that games are the kind of diversions that only an idiot or a jerk could understand. What’s more, these farcical noises should raise the hackles of any competent media consumer. Do you really need a bunch of antiquated beeping to signal the fact that a game’s being played?

Also: I’m genuinely curious as to whether autistic kids seriously dig on video games. Should someone be able to me toward any good resources, I’d truly appreciate it.

I’ve just come back from some holiday travel. Felt good to get out, but of course I’m happy to be home now…airports and plane rides really wear me down. Not sure what happens, exactly — I just get kind of burnt out. On everything. Can’t even play a game. My Sony PlayStation Portable pulled movie duty the whole way to and from Salt Lake. And the Nintendo DS didn’t even leave its case.

Which isn’t to say I don’t use those systems; each of them runs some great games. But both are (at least presumably) designed for journeying. So why is it I’m not using them when I’ve got to travel someplace?

Over the course of my trip, I saw one PSP and maybe six or eight DSes. Most of the Nintendo machines appeared to be running Sudoku in some form or fashion. The PSP looked brand new, and the guy who owned it was presumably just tinkering, though he did have a copy of Star Wars: The Force Unleashed sitting unopened beside him.

All of this left me wondering where we do our handheld gaming. In thinking back, I’d have to say that most of mine takes place just before bedtime, and even then only sporadically. So what I want to know is:

• Do you own a portable gaming system?
• If so, when and where do you play it?
• Are games its primary application, or do you generally use it as a mobile internet device, portable media player, telephone, or the like?

Over the last few weeks, I’ve been woefully disappointed at the lack of coverage Resistance 2 has received from the folks I tend to read. Even the podcast circuit seems to have passed on Insomniac Games’ second first-person shooter for the Sony PlayStation 3. Yes this is a bountiful season, but, seriously, hasn’t ANYbody made time for this thing? I’ve seen and heard some fairly dismissive reviews of the single-player campaign, though that’s only a tiny percentage of what’s on offer. While it’s true that Nathan Hale’s story can’t stand quite so tall as, say, Gordon Freeman’s, Insomniac has nevertheless managed to add a few especially interesting narrative innovations.

I’m speaking, of course, about the unparalleled cooperative mode.  Sure, folks have generally thrown it a bone, but I’m of a mind to say this game type deserves a lot more attention. I haven’t played it since the beta, but I know I had a damned fun time. Anyway — the Big Deal, at least in my opinion, is that co-op play enhances the solo story. They may not dovetail in any significant fashion, but, at least from what I’ve seen, one builds upon the other in order to create a larger and more complete setting. What’s more, this carries over to competitive skirmish.

Bottom line is, few shooters connect their multiplayer content so convincingly to the core story. “Scale” was the big buzzword surrounding this game’s development; Resistance 2 manages to nail a universe so huge it boggles the mind. In other words: if you haven’t played Insomniac Games’ latest, I heartily recommend giving it a try.

So the Wii’s been out for over two years now. Two years! And it’s still selling like hot cakes. Remember that there’s been no change to pricing or configuration. Virtually nothing’s different save the size of the software library and the number of peripherals available. However, in spite of the console’s monumental success, games media outlets are talking about it LESS than ever before. Presumably, these blogs, magazines, and podcasts are just serving their readers’ interests. But why, after only a year on store shelves, did Nintendo’s new console utterly fail to captivate its existing market?

Hark back to late 2007, during which Nintendo-published titles Metroid Prime 3: Corruption, Super Mario Galaxy, and Super Smash Bros. Brawl were released to varying degrees of fanfare. Each of these games turned out to be little more than an extremely competent rehash of its predecessors. None used the Wii Remote to revolutionize existing series mechanics. Moreover, Nintendo’s long history of leading the pack on its own platform caught up with them in a big way. When they failed to more than marginally integrate their new controller’s capabilities into old franchises, that sent a message. Third-party developers had already been shying away from ambitious Wii-centric games; Nintendo’s own conservative design decisions drove the final nails into these efforts’ coffins.

(Only perhaps this is an unfair characterization. After all, Nintendo received plenty of help in the form of guidance from gamers, few of whom wanted motion control to play a big part in this generation’s reimagining of their old favorites.)

Meanwhile, a brand new intellectual property, Capcom’s Zack & Wiki: Quest for Barabaros’ Treasure, was almost universally trumpeted as the title which, “more than any other Wii game…probably offers the best use of the Remote.” Numerous previews praised its innovative implementation of various gestures. IGN even ran a Buy Zack & Wiki Campaign 2007. Unfortunately, despite mountains of positive press, Quest for Barbaros’ Treasure moved only 35,000 units during its first month at retail. This lackluster performance helped cement the Wii’s reputation as a machine that wasn’t worth the effort. Shovelware and Nintendo’s own Touch! Generations brand have dominated the system ever since.

I’ve been playing Zack & Wiki over the past few weeks. Even given the fact I’m over a full year late, it feels pretty atavistic — too many SCUMM-era adventure cliches. Nevertheless, it’s easy to see where the game’s advocates were going. They wanted to push developers into taking full advantage of the Wii’s exciting new hardware. More than anything, these people hoped to have an effect on the industry’s direction. So, in their honor, let’s play a quick game of Imagine: 2.5 Million Copyz. What if Quest for Barbaros’ Treasure had been the instant classic some reviewers strove to make it? How might the Wii’s gamescape have turned out differently? Would No More Heroes, Boom Blox, and MadWorld remain the brightest blips on players’ radars? And, perhaps most important, when might this young and varied medium gain a suitably charismatic, elegant critic capable of having a meaningful influence on its direction? Do we need one? Will it ever?

I’ve long been a proponent of highly sylized video games. This probably has much to do with the fact that I cut my teeth during the NES era. After all, visible pixels don’t exactly lend themselves to realism. But now that the Microsoft Xbox 360 and Sony PlayStation 3 are on the scene, everything’s beginning to change. The extent to which recent games have approached reality (speaking in terms of both art assets and physics engines) has been quite astonishing. Though even some of today’s most valiant attempts still fail to deliver in one respect or another, gaming may be on the verge of a new golden age. Or perhaps it’s just me coming around to something others have known forever. In any case, over the last few years, I’ve tended to appreciate fanciful, interpretive games. Stuff like Beyond Good & Evil or The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker.  But throughout 2008, I’ve begun to see real merit in attempting to closely model reality.

Last week, I wrote about some of my frustrations with Grand Theft Auto IV. I should’ve waited until I had finished that last mission; as is so often the case with games, my quibbles ebbed away just as the credits started rolling. Staring out over that vast and beautiful cityscape, praise for its startling worldliness began welling up from some mysterious and visceral part of my brain. It was an unexpected and emotional moment. Liberty City has this effect on people. 

The particular brand of realism on exhibit in Rockstar’s vision is somewhat superficial; poke around a little bit and you’ll see that non-player character reactions aren’t all that dynamic. In fact, almost nothing in the game behaves exactly as it would in reality. However, despite this lack of depth, there is an astonishing breadth to the world these developers created. Players see, hear, and sometimes use political advertisements, police brutality, and public transportation. Part of the reason this series has been so controversial has to do with the fact that mainstream pundits can’t seem to wrap their heads around where the epic satire ends. By refusing to shy away from taboo subjects, Grand Theft Auto IV turns aspects of our culture upside down. Engaging with the game entails a trip to an alternate universe, and we return to our own with a slightly different outlook.

Such is the power of Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare. Infinity Ward’s masterful and much-heralded recreation of eerily-familiar gunship footage proves just how dehumanizing contemporary tools of destruction can be. What’s more, the game draws some of its level design from a real-world location in the Zone of Alienation.

Though most of us have no desire to participate in the above experiences or visit such dangerous places ourselves, we are able to use gaming as an increasingly authentic vehicle for understanding extraordinary circumstances. Ultimately, playing realistic games grants us perspective on subjects that might otherwise remain regrettably one-dimensional. Better still, our actions and reactions in these simulated worlds can teach us a great deal who we are as people.

Liberty City, for all its sandboxy, open-world qualities, isn’t exactly the free and easiest setting in video games.

As with Indianapolis, there’s (probably) a lot of fun to be had, but you have to be damned motivated to find it. Unfortunately, it’s also much like Hell in that endless suffering awaits those trying to complete story mode in a timely fashion.

In short, I would’ve liked to see a great deal of the core missions made optional. Give Niko more leads sooner, so that interested players can chase his ghosts as truly driven, urgent playactors; let anything else fall by the wayside. Or not, depending on user preference. But a surfeit of objectives to confront after concluding our storyline isn’t problematic — not in the least. Their draw would underscore one of the game’s strongest themes: the ease with which disaffected individuals become inextricably embroiled in the seedy underbelly of a corrupt and gang-ridden city.

Oooh, and — one more complaint — restarting missions is an inexcusable CHORE. Can we get some freakin’ checkpoints next time?! I mean, holy Christ in a Cornflakes box. Ish is real out there. Far too much so.

It’s been over a week since I last visited Kotaku. Doesn’t sound like much, but trust me — this kind of lapse isn’t typical. The site’s been part of my daily diet since E3 2006.

Believe it or not, until just recently I’d read at least a portion of EVERY SINGLE POST written since that period. And Kotaku’s writers collectively crank a minimum of one new entry per hour. So…geez. Let’s not even begin thinking about how to quantify this odyssey in terms of time spent.  Too scary.

Not that I didn’t value the writing, not that those hours were somehow joyless. Far from it! I’m not trying to badmouth one of my very favorite video game news outlets. Rather, I feel the need to give myself a little pat on the back.

Some of us gamers tend to get a little completist about things. Personally, I’m the kind of guy people refer to as “OCD.” (What these folks really mean is that I exhibit traits of obsessive compulsive personality disorder, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.) At any rate, I’ve a history of following through to the extreme that includes meticulous double-checking, absurd standards, and hundred-percenting games that quite literally give me a headache. Not to mention making my pilgrimage to Kotaku Tower the requisite five times per day.

What I guess I’m trying to say is that the break I’ve made with Kotaku represents a kind of victory for me. One that I’d guess quite a number of gamers can identify with. No small portion of us feels compelled to unlock every extra, master each mode, or just generally wring all the content we possibly can out of whatever titles are in our clutches. And, for the most part, it’s fun doing that stuff. But surely we’ve all experienced the burnout and frustration that comes from retrying an objective one too many times. In these instances, maybe making room for something new would be the best possible thing to do.

Though I can’t point to a particular hour, day, or week when my Kotaku-reading ways became too much for me, I do know that my habit had crossed the line demarcating enjoyment from obligation. So I moved out. Let someone else pay the rent at Kotaku Tower.

And, dear editors, if you’re reading this, understand that I’ll be back to visit, but we can’t stay friends if I’m sleeping on your couch for two straight years. I appreciate your introducing me to all kinds of great people. Thanks for inspiring me to dabble in blog writing. I’ll be forever grateful to you for levelling up my enjoyment of and enthusiasm for gaming. Just please don’t take this the wrong way. It’s what’s best for both of us.