Game of the Year 2015 - My Top 3
#3 - Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain
I don’t know how else to say it: The Phantom Pain is one of the most finely-crafted games ever made. The baseline of quality is astonishing in even the finest details, like the way the camera pans or the ways the wind shifts with each of the game’s weather effects. In a digital industry rife with pre-fabricated pieces and dynamically generated content, MGSV feels strangely hand-made.
Open world games will never be the same to me, not after messing with MGSV’s sandbox. Your objectives are deviously simple: “rescue a hostage,” or “blow up the tanks,” but the obstacles and twists thrown in along the way will make each player’s story both memorable and unique. This is as much a result of the resources provided to players as it is of carefully obscured details. The tools are easy to understand and easy to use - throw something near a guard to make a noise and draw their attention, place C4 and detonate it at your command, shoot a rocket to make things go boom instantly, etc. What’s impressive, though, is the extent to which their effects can be combined, and how Kojima Productions force you to improvise as the tension builds to its peak. Maybe your rescue mission takes you into an enormous, heavily guarded enemy compound. That’s hard enough. So you’ll pack your camo gear, a silenced tranquilizer pistol, and maybe some smoke grenades if things get ugly. And just when you start sneaking away with your hostage friend, the giant, 100-foot tall nuclear-armed robot shows up. It’s not all scripted events, though, because MGSV lends itself so well to planning things out, and chances are things will rarely go how you expect. The process of learning to handle each of the many “...oh shit” moments makes MGSV simply unforgettable.
Ambition, however, doesn’t come without cost. The concluding chapter of the game is such a mess that for a minute, I wondered if I could even put it on the Game of the Year list at all. There are some infuriating, mandatory missions that seem to throw out much of the game’s experimentation-driven style, and their impact on the story is wounded because of it. More than that, it kinda’ doesn’t even end! There are major story threads left hanging, and (dancing around spoilers here) I think the exclusion of David Hayter was a massive missed opportunity. It appears that in some ways Chapter 2 became collateral damage of the Kojima-Konami feud, but in another way, maybe that adds to its intrigue. The chronicle of the game and its fallout has become as much of a story as what is told within the game. I’m hopeful that time will heal some of the bitterness I have in that regard, and that one day I’ll be able to more clearly see the end of The Phantom Pain for what it is.
Like every Metal Gear Solid before it, The Phantom Pain is a landmark in video games history. The freedom the game’s tools provide is nothing short of incredible, and their countless unique interactions create one of the most wild toyboxes a game has ever had. Someday soon I’ll feel the urge to go back and I’ll do something stupid I’ve never done before, like throw a mountain of smoke grenades into a jeep and drive it into the sunset.
What would it take to create a new franchise as strong as Mario, Zelda, or Metroid? That’s not a question with a simple answer, and it’s something more than a few game developers have struggled with for decades. Despite all odds Nintendo seem to have struck gold yet again with Splatoon, the freshest shooter we’ve seen in a decade.
Nintendo flipped the genre as we know it by focusing on territory instead of kills, and it’s surprising just how much depth this one decision creates. Score is not calculated by kills or even territory control over time - instead, it’s a measure of who has painted more of the map in their color at the very end of the 3 minute match. You could focus on “splatting” enemies to stop them from painting your own ground, or spend the entire game following players, painting over areas after they finish. Shooters were once known as some of the most impenetrable games to beginners, but Splatoon creates utility for players of all skill levels, since even a rookie can shoot paint on an unclaimed area. This could be done by setting mines, hiding, or even just quietly claiming the lesser-contested portions of the map. The variety in each of the many “guns” have a large effect on how you play, too. While much of the industry is attempting to create esports-ready titles, Nintendo quietly accomplishes the esports ideals on its own: it’s dead simple to pick up and extremely difficult to master. That doesn’t mean I’d ever dream of playing Splatoon competitively, but it’s a hell of a lot of fun whether you’ve been playing for 10 minutes or 10 months.
Honestly, Splatoon shines in just about every aspect. There’s a pervasive sense of style that feels super modern, and you can see it clearly from the fashion to the color palette. The music, on the other hand, is more than modern, it’s incredible and unworldly. These touches go miles in fleshing out the game’s world into something tangible. Most importantly, Nintendo has continued to build on Splatoon for months with free maps, weapons, game modes, features, and events. It seems impossible for a game to excel in as many areas as Splatoon does. To me, excellence seems almost par for the course with Nintendo, but even still - Splatoon is among their best and I’m always ready to play more of it.
My 2015 Game of the Year: Undertale
It’s...difficult to explain Undertale’s effect on me, even more so to do that without spoiling what makes it so special. So let’s start with how I felt: I sobbed when I finished Undertale. I cried harder than just about any game I’ve ever played, and I reflected on it for weeks after. It’s been months and I still feel its absence in everything else I’ve been playing. It’s a game that became so real to me that I’m not sure how objectively I can even see it anymore.
Part of what made Undertale so powerful to me is that it seemed to know me almost better than I do. It becomes apparent over the course of the game that Toby Fox (the game’s creator) has the empathy of a thousand, because he seems to perfectly predict your mentality at every turn. There are undertones of darkness mixed into a cute and innocent facade, and as soon as you start getting a little freaked out, you’ll get slapped out of it with a joke. This sense of whiplash in many ways defines the game, but it’s incredible how little knowing that matters. I was caught off guard time and time again, to the point where it was hard to know what to feel or what’s the “right” solution. I had to put real thought into my actions simply because it wasn’t clear who I could even trust. I’ve never been an enthusiast of games with “moral choices”, and Undertale isn’t necessarily one of those either, but it’s important that it messes with you so much because your actions carry significant consequences. Even in the tiniest of details, it’s shocking how many of your “choices” characters will notice and call you out on. Undertale is not a game that is content with being played - it plays you right back.
The story, characters, and humor would be enough on their own to land Undertale on my Game of the Year list, but the combat design is absolutely brilliant. No exaggeration: these are some of the most memorable boss fights I have ever had the joy of playing. Entirely new mechanics based on each character are introduced, refined, and fully explored within a single encounter. Important characters won’t hesitate to straight up break the rules of the game for their own fight! It’s mind blowing. I can vividly remember more than a few scenes where I just gasped at the screen, stunned at how the game had turned itself on its head. The music accompanying each boss is perfectly designed, matching the flow of the fight and building on the emotions at play. The amount of detail given to each character extends to minor enemies too, because all monsters have their own unique attacks, jokes, and hidden interactions.
Ultimately, I think how much Undertale means to you is dependent on how much you’re able to connect with the characters. An unfortunate side effect of the game’s success is that it heaps vast expectation onto a game that, honestly, doesn’t seem designed to impress. It’s immensely smart and thoughtfully created, but it’s not any sort of immaculate production from beginning to end, like Bloodborne, Splatoon, or many of the other games that came out in 2015. If it was meant to be the pretentious industry-disruptor some project it to be, I don’t think it would work as well as it does. It’s a modest vessel built in service of a handful of characters that Toby Fox deeply cares about, and he wants you to care about them too.
Undertale was emotionally powerful to me at a level that very few games have ever reached. I would be thrilled to go on about its happiest, saddest, funniest, and scariest moments, but more than that, I want everyone that’s interested to be able to go in blind and be as genuinely surprised by it as I was. I wish I could forget everything I knew about it so I could discover it again and again.