I concede that I have not played Jade Empire. Outside of a brief period following last year's E3, I have not even been interested in playing Jade Empire, and now that the game has finally been released for a few weeks and people have moved from bi-polar mystification of what they should feel about this mediocre game to post-completion vindictiveness of not having their triple A tastes satisfied, I doubt my interest will ever spark. It isn't that I don't trust BioWare. Since Balder's Gate, the Edmonton developer has been releasing one fantastic RPG after another, and while I generally trust strong developers when they try something new, there seems to be a critical period where, if the experiment isn't nailed down, it will forever evade the project. Thus is BioWare's new action RPG.

RPGs and I have had a tumultuous history. My first real introduction to them was Final Fantasy II, and the game instantly captivated me by appealing to my mathematic side. Here was a game in which I could meticulously sculpt my hero's image (however superficially) and strive towards the best equipment, rarest spells, and strongest skills. Delusions of grandeur took root so deeply that I found myself submitting to the item duplication glitch, producing an unfair number of Excaliburs for Edge to dart for inordinate amounts of damage. Yet, here also was a game that satisfied my desire for a strong story component in a game, which at that point had been seriously lacking in the RPG's contemporaries. A game, at last, that satisfied me both on a mathematic and a creative level.

After Final Fantasy II, I would delve back into action games and platformers again thanks to a significant lull in access to RPGs (where I lived, game availability was limited to what friends could lend each other). It would be sometime in 1993, when I discovered the world of PC gaming, that I also rediscovered RPGs. While storytelling would sharply drop, freedom of action would more than compensate, and Ultima VII: The Black Gate became one of my most cherished childhood games as well as the primary reason I made a consolidated effort to get into PC gaming. Shortly thereafter, Doom would solidify PC gaming, making me all but forget about consoles, and again RPGs and I parted ways.

In 1997, I was brought back when I was reunited with one of RPGs' cousins, the multi-user dungeon (MUD), the precursor to Ultima Online and, eventually, Everquest. MUDs offered me the freedom of action and deep character customization I had so cherished in Ultima VII, but the real draw was the closed community of the server, making everything that happened in the game's world suddenly more immediate. I was no longer working against scripted antagonists, I was working against real ones; no longer working with two dimensional allies, but real people with real goals, intelligence, and depth. By removing all aspects of storytelling and introducing a community, the story of that MUD became even stronger than any game could hope to achieve. It was the game's greatest strength and, in the end, what finally lead me away from the game.

If my relationship with RPGs are like a man to his torrid lover, my relationship with action games would be my best friend. Where one returns in irregular intervals for passionate flings, the other is the one that provides the stability required to persevere. From Parsec on the TI994A to Far Cry on the PC, not once have I missed a beat playing, and enjoying action games. And while I may enjoy other facets of action games from time to time - the non-linear level design of Metroid, the three dimensional plane of Descent, or the innovative storytelling in Half-Life - the appeal of the games is always the same: the action itself.

I think my love of action games is due to the upward mobility of talent involved. In a truly excellent action game, the rules are clearly defined and one could hypothetically play through it entirely without a single point of damage incurred. It's that striving for excellence that draws me towards these games. But there are games where that upper limit is somehow blocked, and that I call broken action. Broken action is achieved in a variety of ways; there could be too long a recovery phase after attacks, no way to position the camera fairly, deceptive collision detection and animation, and so forth. But broken action always boils down to one thing: that unique feeling of frustration you get when you are hit, often knocked down or staggered, and realize that there was no way to protect yourself against it. In a good game, you work with it, and any time you are damaged, killed, or arrive at game over, you immediately know that it was your fault, that you screwed up somewhere, and you're not going to do that again. In a game of broken action, you're working against the game, and you can often do nothing wrong and still be penalized.

Every movie I have seen of Jade Empire past the first demonstration builds at E3 have shown tell-tale signs of broken action. The character may attempt to go for some fireball spell, or whatever, and be abruptly cut off by an enemy that flew in from off screen or attacked with some move that was so fast it started and ended while the character was still casting. Or the collision detection may make it seem like the enemy is being beaten back, but in reality, they are available to make an attack, and do so to the bewilderment of the player. It seems like the action is a masquerade, providing the illusion of decisiveness and responsiveness when, in reality, your level five character was dead the moment he decided to fight those rock warriors.

I like RPGs, I do. But RPGs are a fickle lover I sometimes call up in the middle of the night when I'm bored. Action games are my dearest friends, and while I don't oppose the idea of them getting together, I refuse to let RPGs abuse action.

For the longest time, the Konami brand has confused me. Growing up, it was easy to see how companies such as Nintendo, Capcom, and even Squaresoft were successful, as each one had gigantic franchise names that are responsible for their success, such as Mario, Zelda, Mega Man, Street Fighter, and, of course, Final Fantasy. Admittedly, Konami had Castlevania, but even that franchise seemed to be in an intermediary state between a "triple A" franchise like Dragon Warrior and a less universally beloved one like ActRaiser. And yet, Konami is a company mentioned in the same breath as companies such as Sega or SNK. How could this be?

It later dawned on me when I was older. I don't actually think it's the real reason people love Konami the way they do, but nevertheless, it's the reason I've come to love Konami. While, notable exceptions such as Contra and Castlevania aside, Konami has had a track record of producing games that are never truly excellent, and yet finely crafted. These are games like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and TwinBee, which are fundamentally strong in their own right and, quite frankly, never misstep. And yet, usually, they fail to achieve the notoriety and love the way the big name franchises do.

But compare these games to other games that exist just below the line of excellence, like Little Nemo, Breath of Fire, or, more recently, Kingdom Under Fire: The Crusaders, and you'll notice something very distinct about Konami's games; they never have irregularities in the experience. Little Nemo, for example, was a game rife with innovation and joy for its time, making it poised for greatness. But there were always little annoyances in each level - things that got too old, too fast and became more of a chore than a sense of joy. Konami games tend to eliminate the upper and lower extremes and keep a consistent experience all the way through. And there is no greater an example of this in practice that the unsung hero of the Konami brand than Gradius.

Since the very first Gradius hit arcades, the series had always been ahead of its time from a conceptual standpoint, because even today, in the face of strong competition such as Raptor, Radiant Silvergun, R-Type, or the recent Ikaruga, the powerup system of Gradius still feels superior, whereas other excellent shooters, such as Ikaruga, seem like extremely polished gimmicks.

Gradius V, the latest and probably last entry in the series, is the game that will probably forever close the genre to linear progression the way Starcraft closed the RTS genre to linear progression. I don't mean that in a storyline perspective, but rather, since Starcraft, any new real-time strategy games haven't offered any fundamental changes along the same path that they had consistently, but rather branched out in different directions, trying to invent another foundation. There doesn't seem that opportunity for sidescroll shooters, though, much like there doesn't seem that opportunity for 3D fighters, which have arguably peaked with Virtua Fighter 4.

The Konami touch has helped Gradius V more than it otherwise would have in this case. Gradius V isn't a game I would recommend to people who asked for my opinion. It's hard, it's frustrating, and it's punishing. But to someone that has grown up with the series or the genre, and know how games used to be, Gradius V shines through like a gem of an older age of gaming, with the hindsight to get everything perfectly right. You will play every level an inordinate number of times, but unlike a more uneven game, you won't begin to rue specific instances, and the game won't ever feel like a chore.

Author's Note: I took five minutes here, ten minutes there, and hours in-between breaks to play Gradius V in lieu of actually finishing this update in one sitting. Thus, if the writing or diction seem to drastically change from place to place, that's because I wasn't there for much of it.

I've been thinking recently that Far Cry begs the question for PC FPSs. Which is to say that, in order to enjoy the game as longtime FPS fans do, you have to be a longtime FPS fan yourself. My first impression of the game when I played the Research demo over a year ago is that it was Counter-Strike in the jungle, and to this day that notion still stands out. The combination of sluggish running and an uninhibited mouselook make the comparisons obvious, as far as I'm concerned. Add in the fact that the game forces you to become a headshot artist (and aren't we all already?), and there's very little transition from one game to another.

The pedigree of Far Cry doesn't end there, though. It seems to be a game that takes all the basics and none of the baubles from all the FPSs that came before them. You can go prone, lean left and right, lob grenades in a firefight, drive vehicles, sprint, and cycle weapons when you run out of ammo. But you can't melee, can't use superfluous gadgets, and can't hurl solid objects at people. There also aren't Incredible Machine physics chains (although there is a deep physics engine), no complicated scripted events, little thought or attention given to story, and a lackluster multiplayer component. Far Cry is a game of simple economy - it's a game of constant, by the numbers, pitch-perfect single-player shooting.

Much has been said about the value of variety of games. Grand Theft Auto, World of Warcraft, and Unreal Tournament are testaments to that philosophy. Yet, there's something intrinsically appealing, at least to so-called "hardcore" gamers, about the very core of a specific genre being done exactly right. Games such as Tetris, Starcraft, and Super Mario Bros. 3 all represent the purest form of their respective genres. Each game may have successors, but they tend to be variations on the basic principles outlined by the mold these games either established or cemented, or are tweaked with small gimmicks like head to head play (TetriNET), hero classes (Warcraft III), or... heh... blast processing (Sonic the Hedgehog). Far Cry is the game that has finally set the mold for FPSs, and it knows it. The fundamental and pure shooting is the reason why, a year after the game's release, I have reinstalled it and returned to it over ten times.

Unfortunately, Far Cry's greatest strength is also its glaring flaw. For whatever reason, in the genus of FPSs, the turning point of the story has to introduce some entirely new type of enemy - generally some sort of alien or variation therein - which you also have to fight. In many cases, such as Halo or Half-Life, having to fight a different type of enemy is not only acceptable but welcome with open arms thanks to the accompanying story and, more importantly, to add variety to the game. But because Far Cry is less of a point A to point B shooter and hinges more on the success of its core gameplay, you never want to stop fighting the AI opponents. But they force you to.

Think of it this way. Imagine you're watching a comedy over the weekend and halfway through, it suddenly turns into a serious drama. You may like comedies and dramas, perhaps even in the same picture, but if you were already on the movie's side as a comedy when suddenly it shifted gears and went in another direction entirely, you would likely feel cheated, and it would sour the entire experience for you somewhat. You would be caught unprepared, being in a comedy mindset, and your tendency might even be to cut your losses and stop watching right there, leaving yourself with what you had come to like about the movie.

That is what happens in Far Cry. If the mapmaking community, which has responded to the game with as many custom singleplayer maps as multiplayer maps - none of which seem to feature any trigens - is any indication of what gamers like about the game, it's safe to say that fighting AI humans is the bread and butter of Far Cry. The beauty of the AI is that it forces you to move intelligently, use the surrounding cover to your advantage, take careful aim for headshots, create distractions on the fly, flank the enemy, and generally use every reflex we have honed in Quake, Team Fortress, Counter-Strike, Unreal Tournament, Halo, and many other FPSs over the last ten years. Thus, it's so disappointing to us when that is suddenly taken away from us when we have to fight trigens, who have no discernible AI to speak of and essentially turn Far Cry into Doom III. It's so greatly disappointing and such a fantastic waste of what was doing so well that many gamers I've spoken to simply abandoned the game after they showed up.

I've mentioned that I've reinstalled Far Cry something to the tune of ten or so times over the last twelve months. That's true. But it's misleading. After I finish the Research Facility, as I just did, I seem to invariably wind up uninstalling all over again.

You'll have to forgive me; I'm new at this.

In fact, this is the first time I've ever posted in anything resembling an Everything / Nothing fashion. The whole experience is rather strange. With forums and instant messengers, you know exactly who your audience is and tailor your comments accordingly. Even in the case of especially bad E/N sites, there seems to be a certain subculture of people who visit the site -- the usual suspects seem to be computer nerds, the unemployed, or kids if it's a particularly porn-ridden site. Of course, there's a subculture involved here as well -- that of the general serious gaming public -- and yet with probably somewhere around 200 people all posting to their journals, which are in turn extensions of their profile, which itself typically goes unread, it raises the question: am I talking to anyone?

I've never kept a diary before. I used to write a kind of diary, a sprawling prose of self-indulgent language where I would try and express the feelings (rage) I were feeling at the particular moment. It had a soothing effect. But then, like everything else beneficial for me, I grew tired of it and gave up on it. That was at least three years ago. And yet, even there, the inherent lack of an audience became an audience. They were words that were essentially going straight into the garbage, never for another human's eyes see. That was the audience. Here, the writing is open for consideration to any who would bother to read, and at the same time there's an improbability that anyone would read through. That creates neither a specific audience nor a lack of one. It's probably what being stranded in the ocean would feel like, where in every direction there is nothing but ocean. You know you should try to head in some direction, but which one? What could would be less abritrary than another?

Okay. So I stole that analogy -- sort of. I'm reading a book called Life of Pi by Yann Martel. It was forced upon me by a friend of mine, sort of as a measure of payback, and sort of as an ernest recommendation of an entertaining book. And, not counting the first 30% of it, it is actually really interesting. It's a "Canadian book," but don't let that fool you -- it's not really about Canada, has nothing to do with "Canadian sensibilities," and isn't essentially reading paint dry. It's about a boy called Piscine from India who is the son of a zookeeper. Now, I want to tell you more -- the bulk of it starts roughly 100 pages in and that's really the story. It's a true story, apparently, and it's absolutely fascinating in the "how did the boy manage that?" sort of way, but if I tell you the specifics, I know for sure that I'll ruin at least two great lines and moreover I'll slightly invalidate the first 100-ish pages. But, suffice to say, the publisher's summation will give away what I won't, so if you're still fed up with my apprehension, you can follow the link and it'll fill you in.

As well, I have a Criterion copy of Federico Fellini's 8 1/2 sitting on my shelf. It has to be returned from whence it came by Friday (I believe), and I've seen it before. It's a really fascinating movie by Fellini who is considered one of the greatest of the great European film geniuses. However, it's not a beginner-ready art film -- it's highly esoteric and filled with obscure symbolism. Nevertheless, if you're feeling brave, give it a shot. And what's more, La Dolce Vita (my favorite Fellini film, and the one he took the Palm D'Ur or whatever at Cannes for) comes on CBC (Canadian channel) on Wednesday. It's still a "hard" art film, but it's nowhere near as bad as 8 1/2, so if any Canadians read this, you might want to check it out. Maybe I'll check out the commentary track for 8 1/2 at the same time.