I don’t post here much and when I do it’s kind of grumpy. I’m just not gaming a lot these days, and my time and energy and writing are focused elsewhere.
If you’d like to hear from me more consistently, about happier things, and are okay with it not being all about video games, check out my new site:
😋 Dan Yums: A Blog of Simple Pleasures
Every day of 2025, I’ll be posting something I like. Something that makes me smile or that’s improved my life or that sparks joy. One of my yums. I hope you’ll find it to be a nice little daily dose of positivity.
Literally the Only Other 2024 Game I Played This Year
Cat Quest III
Game I Played the Most This Year
Farming Simulator 22, which I still play with Senpai-chan
Games I Returned to This Year
Faerie Solitaire Remastered, which kept me sane in a lot of hour-long work meetings for which I had to be on camera the whole time but only needed to pay attention for a couple of minutes
Orbit, an obscure game for an obscure platform that scratches a specific itch that's otherwise pretty hard to scratch these days
Game Which I Might Have Bought This Year, Except I Felt Burned on Early Adoption of Indie Titles
Caravan SandWitch, which seemed fun and chill, but after both of the indie games I bought and played around their release had significant updates adding content and polish after I finished playing them, I felt like I was being punished for early adoption and remembered why I often wait to play indie games
There's a subgenre of game where you launch something and it travels a distance based partly on skill and partly on luck, and the further you manage to go the more resources you collect which you can then spend on upgrades that let you go farther and farther. Like Yetisports: Pingu Throw with a progression treadmill, and kind of a precursor to endless runners like Canabalt and its descendants.
I feel like there were a lot of these for a while, but people largely stopped making this kind of game. Maybe the mechanics were a bit too simple, or maybe endless runners were more appealing. But even the games that were made are now mostly lost to time. The problem is that their style of gameplay as well as the era in which they were popular meant they were mostly Flash games, which of course is now a dead platform, or early iOS games, which is an anti-preservation platform. (Or both.)
One of my favorites was Orbit, which came out exclusively as a PlayStation Mini. Like PlayStation Mobile, PlayStation Minis are a now-defunct platform of small digital-only games. These were aimed primarily at the PSP, but also often playable on the PS3 and later the Vita and PlayStation TV. I think the Minis might technically still be purchasable and downloadable if you have the right hardware, but some of them (including Orbit) are long-since delisted.
If you weren't in the PlayStation ecosystem when Sony was pushing PlayStation Minis, it's hard to even find evidence they ever existed. Try searching "PlayStation Mini" now and you'll mostly just find results for the PlayStation Classic instead. So Orbit is even deader than the Flash or early mobile games of its ilk.
These games were pretty popular, but they effectively only existed for a few years and have been all-but wiped from history. Their remembered impact is so minor that I can't even find an agreed-upon genre name for them (I call them "distance games").
It's a shame, because sometimes this sort of mindless progression is just what the doctor ordered, and I feel like it would still be right at home on mobile. Maybe they just don't monetize as well as gacha bullshit.
Thomas Reisenegger gives a fascinating and actionable overview of how to think about marketing indie games. Some principles are timeless; others are targeted to the current social media landscape.
My favorite insight (and one that has frustrated me when it isn’t followed) is that all your marketing should “work for the newcomers”. It’s important to remember that every post, trailer, etc. you make will be the first time a significant number of people will even hear of your game.
There are two main reasons that game genres are such a mess. The first, which seems to be slightly better known, is that categories are hard. But the second reason, which is both more important and less understood, is this:
A game's genre label isn't really about that game. It's about every other game.
Genre labels are shorthand used for setting expectations. They convey what sort of experience a game provides by invoking a shared reference point. Claiming that a game belongs to a certain genre is a statement that the game is, in important ways, similar to other games in that genre and different from other games outside that genre. Therefore, the most useful genre label for a game depends completely on which other games do and do not have that label.
Suppose Apex Legends had come out in 1994. The exact same game, played the exact same way. It would have been called a "DOOM clone". That would have been the most useful label at the time. But since it instead came out in 2019, into a world that had seen Team Fortress 2, Overwatch, Battleborn, and so on, it was more useful to call it a "hero shooter". The only difference was which other games people were familiar with.
The best-known example of someone trying to push this in the other direction is of course Hideo Kojima referring to Death Stranding as the first "strand game" when nobody knows what that means. This completely fails to clarify what kind of experience the game provides. But who knows; maybe in a few years "strand" will be a widely-understood genre label.
It's expected for the set of commonly-used genre labels and their meanings to shift over time, and for this to accelerate as more games are created more rapidly. And on top of that, the more games come out, the smaller the percentage of them that even the experts can possibly be familiar with.
I don't really play shmups so it is not particularly useful to me to distinguish between their subtypes. For my purposes, a bullet hell game and a trance shooter game are in the same genre. I literally didn't even know that "trance shooter" was considered a shmup subtype until I looked it up just now, even though one of the listed examples is Super Stardust HD which is one of my favorites! But of course, to people who care a lot about these particular types of games, the distinctions are significant and having the subgenre labels is quite useful.
Add this all together, and what we have is: genre labels are hard to define, shift over time, and mean different things to different people. This is fine. The goal of a genre label is to compare a game to the constantly-shifting reference points around it; of course it will also be constantly shifting. Trying to "fix" this by getting super-technical and specific with your definition is like trying to plant a flag in the ocean.
(Naturally all this applies to genres in all kinds of media, and a lot of other categories too.)
For me, the most important thing an RPG can do is make its setting feel like a real world inhabited by real people. Having recently played Star Ocean: The Divine Force and Star Ocean: The Second Story R back to back has provided me with a couple nicely illustrative examples to share. Minor/vague spoilers follow for both games.
Divine Force does something weird with its townsfolk NPCs: it doesn't let you talk to them. Some of them do have chatter, but you can't read any of it (unless you turn on an obscure option buried in a menu somewhere that I went the entire game without finding). It's voiced but barely audible, and even if you stand still in the right place long enough to hear it there's a good chance your party members will start talking over it to remind you where the next plot trigger is (which is completely unnecessary as there's always a map marker for that as well). It quickly becomes clear that it's just not worth the bother.
I can't wrap my head around this. Why in the world would a game do this? It feels like a decision by committee where the result is far more expensive and far less effective than just having text bubbles. And because you don't talk to the townspeople, the world feels empty apart from the major characters.
The most frustrating instance of this is a part where you are visiting a town to meet someone who lives there. Their home is all the way in the back, so you need to walk through the entire town past many NPCs to reach it. Once you get there, the cutscene dialog implies you've learned a lot about the person you're meeting by talking to the townsfolk about the things this person has done for the town. This had not happened for me even a little. Again, it feels like design by committee: in most RPGs, putting the character's house at the back of the town would absolutely have had this result and it would have been a great way to introduce this character, but here the effect was ruined by how Divine Force handles NPC dialog.
Contrast this with a couple scenes in Second Story, which has the traditional talk-to-any-NPC-for-text-bubble-dialog approach. When you reach the game's second town, the tavern is full of miners. If you talk to them, you learn that work in the local mine has been stopped. As you advance the plot, you eventually solve the issue that required closing the mine. If you return to the bar after this, it's empty and the barkeep laments that all the miners have gone back to work so his business has slowed to a crawl.
I love this little touch. It makes the world feel real, like your actions are actually making a difference to real people.
Sometimes an RPG will do something so bizarre that it destroys its illusion in one fell swoop (see my reaction to Lost Sphear). It can be harder to see the more spread-out impact of having or not having NPCs to react realistically to a story's events (see Shamus Young writing about this in the first two Mass Effect games), but it can make a huge cumulative difference in how satisfying a game's world is to inhabit. It's definitely part of why I still consider Second Story to be the best Star Ocean.
I've been playing Star Ocean: The Second Story R and loving it.
Among the many improvements in this remake are some that make it much easier to collect different endings (much appreciated since there are ninety-nine of them). I decided to make myself a checklist tool, and then I figured I might as well publish it. Pretty niche, but maybe someone out there will get some value from it. So here it is.
Minor design decisions and immersion in Star Trek: Resurgence
I finally played Star Trek: Resurgence, which I'd had my eye on for some time. It's an interesting game in its own right, but also significant as the first game from Dramatic Labs (a studio formed by Telltale Games veterans) and as part of a new wave of licensed Star Trek games during an exciting time for that franchise.
So naturally I'm here to ignore all of that and instead discuss a specific design decision that most people would probably ignore instead of fixating on. (What can I say? You come to my house, you get my bullshit.)
Okay, so. Resurgence is mostly a game about making choices. There are a few other flavors of gameplay including stealth/combat sequences, shuttlecraft piloting, walking around and investigating areas, a handful of minigames and QTEs, and so on. But the core is making dialog choices that have various effects on the characters and the relationships between them.
Correspondingly, those choices are the foundation of the game's achievements/trophies. There aren't any for, say, clearing a combat section without taking damage. None of them are skill-based (except inasmuch as you need to be able to complete all previous parts of the game to reach the particular decision the achievement is for) and I think that's absolutely the right call. Those more-active parts of the game are for pacing and immersion; it'd be weird to turn them into things the player has to master for full completion.
What seems like a less-right call to me is that the achievements aren't for passing decision points, but for making specific choices. Like at one point there's a crisis, both your science officer and security officer have recommendations for getting through it, and you have to decide which one to follow. There isn't a trophy for getting through the crisis: there's one for following the science officer's recommendation and one for following the security officer's. Almost all the achievements are like that. (On PlayStation, there is additionally the Platinum trophy for getting all other trophies; on Xbox, there are additionally three progress trophies for getting through the three "acts" of the game.)
Now, that does mean that a player's achievement list for the game becomes a reference for the choices they made, which is kind of a cool thing to have and to be able to share with other players (though the achievements have pretty explicit descriptions so the list is full of GIANT SPOILERS until you finish a playthrough). But the game's website already provides a mechanism for this, and achievements are particularly poorly-suited to this goal.
By positioning all the alternative choices as items in a completion checklist, the game signals that you should see them all before you can consider yourself truly done. This isn't as obnoxious as it was in Q.U.B.E. 2, because the game is at least about the choices and there is new stuff to see on a replay, though I still think it smacks of insecure design. But it does mean that anyone who replays the game to make other choices and get all the achievements renders their list useless as a reference for their "actual" choices--and it turns those choices from ones that allow the player to express something about their values to obligatory ones that are just checked off a list with no personal meaning. And the more effective the game has been at creating a real-feeling world and characters, the less interested I am in doing that.
(It's the same reason I was so relieved to see that Resurgence didn't have secrets or collectibles. Hunting through all corners of the map to find golden ships or research data would destroy immersion instantly; I was really happy I could just go where my character would go and not worry that I would be mechanically punished for it.)
Resurgence wasn't a perfect game, but it did a better job than anything else ever has at making me feel like a Starfleet officer. I loved the scenarios it put me in and the opportunity to make decisions that best reflected Federation values and balanced protecting my crew with advancing our mission. I recognize that I'm more sensitive to this than others, but I resent feeling nudged to go back and make different decisions that will turn Resurgence from a world populated with people to a series of arbitrary levers to pull.
A narrative adventure set in the Star Trek universe with compelling characters and decisions to make along with some flaws in story and game
My review of *Star Trek: Resurgence*! Bottom line: it's a narrative adventure set in the *Star Trek* universe with compelling characters and decisions to make along with some flaws in story and gameplay.
It's common for people to complain about a game getting convenience/difficulty/accessibility/approachability features they personally won't use and which thus won't directly affect their own experience. My mental model has been that this happens for several reasons. In no particular order:
Status quo bias. If you already like something, change is scary.
Status signaling. If more people can do something, that thing is less impressive.
Gatekeeping. The more people enter a given fandom/community, the more the community changes to be like the mainstream, and the more the property will change to target mainstream tastes. (I haven't written about this subject directly yet, though I've brushed up against it. My feelings are complicated and mixed: it frustrates me when something niche that I like reinvents itself to chase mass appeal, but there are also properties that I only fell in love with after they did that. Something to dig into another time.)
Opportunity costs. If a developer spends time on these features, that will consume resources that could have gone elsewhere.
The "intended experience". I disagree with this one pretty strongly, but my attempt to frame it generously would be something like: Giving the player more ways to tweak the experience makes it more likely they will change it to a version significantly worse than what they could have had. (Sometimes this comes with half-hearted concessions for accessibility.)
For the first four of these, I can at least understand where people are coming from. I generally think they are not sufficient reasons to keep these kinds of features out of games (at least games that aren't super-small and super-niche) but I can at least see the possible outcomes these people say they want to prevent. There's something real going on there.
But for that last one, "intended experience," I've always been a bit confused. I've usually chalked it up to a lack of empathy, with people not realizing these features are for someone else and just because you wouldn't use or benefit from them doesn't mean nobody would. Lately, though, I've been thinking - what if the problem is actually that people don't want these features because they would use them?
Take this write-up about Steam's then-upcoming (now released) note-taking feature:
[T]here's one thing I'm quite upset about, and that's the new Notes app. I love a good notebook game, you know? Fiddling out puzzles in Tunic, remembering patterns in The Witness... Notebook games are great. But I fear this new Notes app will kill that kind of note-taking dead. And that makes me sad. . . .
[A]s much as I like physical notebook games, I know full well that I'll opt for the easy, in-game version as soon as it's available. Because ultimately, I'm a lazy creature at heart, and balancing a notebook on my knee while playing games on Steam Deck isn't nearly as easy as having one open on my desk.
I assume there's some exaggeration for comedic (and engagement-seeking) effect here, but I feel like I've seen this sort of sentiment expressed far too many times for it to not be at least somewhat a Real Thing. I've discussed something similar with what I called "checklist features" - things like quest logs and map icons that are very helpful for some players but ruin the feeling of exploration and freedom for others even if they are optional. But this takes things further. It's less about breaking an illusion and more about people sabotaging their own experiences.
For convenience, and based on the above write-up justifying this view by identifying as "lazy," I'm going to call this position "lazy asceticism" and the people who hold it "lazy ascetics." Lazy ascetics seem to honestly claim that they prefer a specific kind of higher-friction experience (taking physical notes, playing on a brutally-hard difficulty, etc.) but also that if a lower-friction experience (taking digital notes, playing on an easier difficulty, etc.) is a feasible option, they will choose that experience instead, even though they know they will enjoy it less.
This... blows my mind a bit? I mean, I understand things like akrasia and procrastination and so on, where (to oversimplify) you do something you'll enjoy more now even though you know you'll regret it later. But this doesn't seem to be like that? This is someone engaged in a recreational activity, the purpose of which is enjoyment, choosing to do something they'll enjoy less even in the moment because it is, in some sense, easier.
Like, imagine that a game patches in a literal "win button". Pressing this button unlocks the "beat the game" achievement and rolls credits before depositing you back on the main menu. To me, it's patently obvious that (novelty value aside) this wouldn't be any fun. I'd play the game without using it and wouldn't be haunted by a nagging feeling that I could simply stop and hit the button at any time. I'm here to experience the game in a particular way; why would I be tempted by a way that isn't appealing?
I suspect that even lazy ascetics would handle this absurdly-exaggerated-extreme the same way. But to me, it sure seems like optional convenience features and easy modes are essentially just more-targeted friction-removers that tap into the same thing. If I know I'd enjoy a game less with all the Assist Mode features turned on, I'm not tempted to use them. I don't see why lazy ascetics are.
I assume this is another one of those cases where the same stimuli are experienced differently by different people based on subtle and illegible differences in our brains, because this view seems to be pretty common and it makes zero sense to me. And because I don't understand these people's internal experiences and am speculating based on plausible-sounding but unflattering possible explanations, all my ideas come out pretty self-serving.
Like, maybe lazy ascetics don't actually want those higher-friction experiences on their own merits. Maybe they just want to be able to think of and describe themselves as the sort of person who does because they think it's cool to be someone who writes in physical notebooks or beats games on Extreme difficulty, and they're lying to themselves. People like me who play on Easy when we want to and Hard when we want to are just more capable of being honest with ourselves about what we actually want, and lazy ascetics will have a better time if they just admit who they really are and do what they truly enjoy.
Or maybe lazy ascetics are just incredibly suggestible to the point where they are incapable of choosing their own experiences based on their own preferences. Maybe they're the sort of person who needs to uninstall every social media app or they'll spend all day endlessly scrolling even though they don't want to just because the option is there. People like me who can be aware of convenience features without using them have better self-determination and are more resistant to manipulation, and lazy ascetics would be well-served by training up their willpower a bit. (I've seen people tout the value of playing games on high difficulty to train perseverance and other important skills, and occasionally even done that myself. Maybe lazy ascetics should toughen up by playing games with those features and not using them to train the skill of choosing their own experiences rather than taking whatever path has been greased-up for them, so they can do what they enjoy and what's good for them and not just what some corporation has made easy because it's profitable.)
I'm immediately suspicious of these theories, of course. I don't want to fall into the same trap I did when I first wrote about punishment in games. But I'm still left feeling that I don't understand what's actually happening here and would love to hear an explanation from a lazy ascetic (maybe they can give me a better name for them, too).
Sonic Frontiers does something really weird with its final boss fight and I wanna talk about it.
Obviously, mechanical spoilers follow. No narrative ones, though.
As a bit of background: Sonic Frontiers has difficulty modes. You can pick Easy, Normal, or Hard and change it at any time. (There's an unlockable Extreme difficulty but that works differently and is beyond the scope of this post.) This is already a bit unusual for a Sonic game, since Sonic games don't generally have the sorts of stats that are tweaked by difficulty modes. But in Frontiers, Sonic has has attack and defense stats that you level up over the course of the game, and its difficulty modes basically buff/nerf these stats. No other mechanics or gameplay are affected; this is only about combat.
Honestly, that's already a bit weird to me on a couple levels. I've always been leery of statistics-tweaking difficulty modes in games where the statistics in question are already partially under the user's control. It puts a weird spotlight on the purpose of having stats that level up in the first place. Like, if I play an RPG and find that I'm underleveled/undergeared for a boss fight, I could go spend time grinding levels or farming gear and come back with higher stats - or I could just lower the difficulty for the same effect. Is farming/grinding somehow more legitimate a solution? If so, why? These questions go to weird places.
But also, non-trivial combat in Sonic has always felt out of place to me. In early Sonic games, enemies are just another kind of level feature. (Except for bosses; we'll come back to those.) They are threats that have to be dealt with in specific ways but also can be used to reach places you otherwise couldn't. What makes them an interesting challenge is the need for the player to recognize them and respond correctly to avoid damage and/or take advantage of their placements, similar to cues in a rhythm game. So it makes sense that enemies should only take a single hit to dispatch - if you instead have to halt forward momentum for multiple seconds to deal with a single enemy, that's a pointless interruption to what you're there to enjoy. (At least, that's how I felt about it when it started happening, I wanna say in Sonic Heroes.) Stats really shouldn't be relevant because everything dies in one hit.
Boss fights are a different situation, though frankly a lot of those have felt out of place to me too. It's always risky to take a game that isn't about fighting and have its climaxes be about fighting; generally the best way to handle it is to just reskin the game's normal mechanics. To me, the best Sonic boss fights are the ones where you're just doing a bit of platforming and then landing a hit on the boss, repeat three-ish times, fight over. Again, stats don't enter into it.
In Sonic Frontiers, this isn't how it works. Enemies that show up during platforming segments serve the same purpose as in older games, and correspondingly they go down in a single hit no matter what. But there are also a ton of varied enemies you find in the open world, and these fights are nontrivial. These enemies take multiple hits, and the number of hits depends on your stats. Similarly, the bosses (and minibosses) often require some platforming to position yourself to attack them, but then you get a time-limited window and the amount of damage you can do in that time (and therefore the number of times you need to do the platforming bits) depends on your stats.
Making this a bit more interesting is the variety of attacks and combos you can perform, which are unlocked from a skill tree. Picking up new attack combo skills still feels weird to me in a Sonic game and they don't have much depth, so I read the whole system as existing to just make sure combat isn't too dull, to give it a sense of progression (though if you're not rushing you can easily max out the skill tree less than halfway through the game), and to give you more things to collect in the open world (skills and stat boosts all come from accumulating collectibles).
So. Everything with combat feels like a system layered on top of the game to give it more texture. And the difficulty modes are really a mechanical focus slider for how much you want to have to pay attention to combat and its associated systems. Want to fill out the skill tree and put together crazy combos and dish out tons of damage? Play on Hard, and you'll have a reason to do so. Don't think that sounds like a fun thing to do in a Sonic game? Play on Easy, and you won't have to. Everything else about the game, especially the platforming that's much more central to the experience, will be the same.
So it seems misleading to me to call these difficulty modes at all - it's not like they reduce the number of collectibles you need to progress or make the S-rank time targets less strict or anything. Playing Sonic Frontiers on Easy isn't playing an easier Sonic game; it's playing one with less combat focus and which is thus more like most Sonic games.
But that kind of thing is (frustratingly) common and isn't the weird thing I want to talk about. So let's move on to the next piece of background here: the minigames.
Another way Sonic Frontiers spices up the gameplay is through a number of weird minigame challenges. (Interestingly, while a lot of the game's content is optional, I'm pretty sure all of these are required to progress.) Stuff like herding a group of Kocos or skydiving through a weird obstacle course. Most of them are shallow and unfun repackagings of the game's existing mechanics. The one that's the most disconnected from normal gameplay is the hacking minigame, which you do a few times and which is, for some reason, a polarity shmup reminiscent of games like Ikaruga. You and your enemies shoot light and dark bullets, you are immune to the kind of bullets you are currently shooting, and shooting down same-color bullets charges a powerful homing attack. Destroy all the enemies without running out of lives.
It's a little weird to have a shmup in Sonic, but off-genre hacking minigames is far from unusual, as is off-genre gameplay in Sonic. But again, this is just background. Now we can talk about the really weird thing.
The final boss fight is two fights in a row. On Easy and Normal, once you finish the first fight, apparently you get a cutscene with a couple QTEs to represent the second fight. (From what I read; I played on Hard myself.) But on Hard, there's a full-blown second fight which is played as an extended and significantly harder polarity shmup sequence. I'm sure it's not as hard as an actual Ikaruga level or anything, but it's long and the enemy has new deadly attacks that bring it much closer to a bullet hell than before. And if you beat this fight, you get an extra post-credits scene.
This is the only thing that the difficulty modes affect besides combat stats, it's at the very end of the game, and it's not telegraphed in any way. If you've opted for more mechanical focus on combat... surprise, the final boss now has a shmup level that has nothing to do with the normal combat system or stats and instead is a bigger tougher version of the hacking minigame. And if you didn't do this, then you miss a bit of extra story.
(To be fair: you can change difficulty at any time and continuing a game clear save puts you right before the final boss so you can just put the difficulty to Hard and do the fight again if you find out about this and want to experience it, and the extra scene is really short so you aren't missing much if you don't see it.)
Can you imagine this for other games? What if playing Bioshock on Hard inserted a tough Pipe Dream level into the final boss? Or if playing Mass Effect on hard added a tough Frogger level at the end?
I'm really curious why this happened. I know there were a lot of scrapped plans for Frontiers's final act; I wonder if the shmup gameplay was originally intended to be more central in a way that would have made it make sense as part of the final boss fight, but they'd finished that sequence and not wanted to scrap it, so they compromised and shoved it into Hard mode so only the players who were signing up for maximum challenge would be blocked by it (and they could drop down to Normal if they wanted to skip it... though again, you'd have to somehow learn that doing so would have that effect).
If that's what happened, I can basically understand it. But I take exception to withholding a cutscene from players who didn't want to spend time punching, kicking, and shooting in their Sonic game.
When I bought a Steam Deck, I wasn't too concerned about its specs or compatibility with new stuff. As a rule, I don't exactly rush to play the latest AAA releases. But sometimes I want to play a newish big-ticket game that happens to be significantly worse on Steam Deck.
Sonic Frontiers was one of those games. It's perfectly playable on the Deck and the graphical issues didn't get in the way of the experience I wanted, but they did make me laugh when I saw that there was a photo mode.
I do love it when games allow for creative expression that you can capture as persistent play artifacts, but it's hard to get excited about setting up photo ops when the platform I'm on means the resulting image will cap out at 720p with limits on draw distance and texture quality and possible glitches.
This kind of thing doesn't happen often enough that it would be remotely worth buying a new gaming PC or current-gen console, but it happens enough to be annoying. It's another reason to hope that the Steam Deck keeps doing well and becomes a widely-targeted platform by the AA and AAA studios and not just the indies.
So, The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog was pretty good. But playing it also awoke my long-dormant Sonic fixation and made me want to spend more time with those characters.
The problem is that as a rule, Sonic games are not the kind of game I want to play these days. They tend to be built around mastery challenges, which was great for me when I was learning perseverance but not so much now at a time when I'm uninterested in friction and failure. I just want to chill with Sonic and friends, but Sonic games have no chill. (Yes, there was one RPG, but it was terrible.)
But! It just so happens that the latest mainline Sonic game, Sonic Frontiers, is an open-world game apparently taking some cues from The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. It has tons of chill!
So I picked it up and am loving it. I'd expect it to be divisive - games that branch out from the formula in crazy experimental ways are normal for the Sonic franchise, but this feels like a more radical departure than usual. And it certainly has flaws, as expected for the first installment with a new structure and gameplay approach, but it hits me in just the right way for what I'm looking for. Some reviewers call the open world empty and desolate; I find it peaceful and calm. Some complain that the platforming segments are isolated and decontextualized; I like that I can approach them on my own pace and schedule. Some complain that the most-traditional elements of the game, the cyber space levels, are so short; I like that they are so manageable and I can generally achieve all of their objectives after just a few tries and then switch to whatever other kind of gameplay I'm in the mood for.
I think this is yet another reason why it's borderline meaningless to try to assign review scores to games as though their quality and enjoyability are objectively quantifiable, instead of just clarifying what kind of experience they provide. Frontiers is not an objectively great game, but it's great to me, today. If I'd tried it some years back or even when I was just in the wrong mood maybe I would have dropped it quickly.
What games did I correctly dismiss years ago that I'd actually really enjoy today?
Here's what frustrates me about the discourse around NFTs in games: it's not actually about NFTs.
We've already had, for a long time, digital marketplaces for artificially-scarce virtual goods. There are many games where players can buy, sell, and trade their in-game goods, but to prevent counterfeiting and fraud the players need to go through a central server to do so. If the server is down or inaccessible you can't do any of this, and if there's real money involved the publisher-or-whoever takes a cut to pay for that server. Moving a system like this to an NFT-backed one would allow players to trade directly with each other regardless of central server availability and without needing to subsidize its maintenance.
This was a decently-well-known possibility for years, but no big publisher implemented it, because while it would have improved the player experience, it would have cut off a revenue stream. Taking a cut of every transaction pays far more than just the associated maintenance costs and can actually be the main way these games make money. No publisher is going to just give that away.
So when NFTs did catch on with publishers, it wasn't for valid and player-friendly use cases in games where it made sense. It was for illegitimate cash-grab bullshit forced into games where it didn't fit at all, or as the basis of a scam or pyramid scheme. And when those started getting big is when most people first heard the term "NFT", and so it's what they associate it with.
Players rightly deride these schemes, but this derision is now associated with terms like "NFT" and "blockchain" because the bad use cases are the only ones most people have encountered. So now if a game comes along with a good NFT use case (such as a digital trading card game that uses NFTs to make cards into unique and distinct entities that can be upgraded, traded, and sold player-to-player), it has an uphill battle because for most players it will be lumped in with the bad use cases and dismissed as just another scummy NFT game.
The problem was never the NFTs. The problem was the short-sighted player-hostile money-grabbing. But since that's how a lot of people were introduced to NFTs, the conceptual well was poisoned. Once it gets in that state, the problem is self-reinforcing, because player-friendly publishers will mostly want to avoid tarnishing their games with this reputation, while player-hostile ones with nothing to lose will keep pushing for the player-hostile revenue streams.
