DISPATCHES SEPTEMBER

Never mind the Moloch

I often hear criticism of games along the lines of ‘if it were half the length, it would be twice the game’. I tend to agree. Game makers seem to be falling further into a play-time Moloch Trap. Or could they be actively sustaining it?

Moloch is the name of the force of bad incentive, where core values are sacrificed to gain an advantage. This compels the competition to do the same to keep up, while everyone ends up worse off than before. That may sound abstract or overly philosophical, but Moloch is happening all around us. An everyday version is the idea that bad news sells. Bad news stories attract the most views, comments and discussion, often because of the toxic conversation around them. News corporations can’t afford to let these stories go unreported without taking a financial hit, because their competition is doing exactly the same. In doing so, they distort the stories we see and our world view. Although that’s quite a serious analogy, the bones of Moloch are present in the videogame landscape.

One instance is that a longer game equates to better sales. The player doesn’t necessarily benefit from the extra play time, but now expects it because many publishers have bought into this skewed idea of value for money. Since our view is distorted by years of this practice, a longer game is the norm, so it looks more attractive to our wallets.

In my opinion, Dave The Diver and Neon White, the two games I’ve completed most recently, are prime candidates for the ‘if it were half the length, it would be twice the game’ adage. There comes a point in both of these games where the impact of additional content becomes diluted. I enjoyed both of them immensely, but they could have been so much more.

During the second third of Neon White,

new levels offer a similar challenge to those that came before and add snack-size morsels of character background. Both of which add very little to the overall experience compared to the same content before that point in the game.

Meanwhile, new systems and side objectives are added throughout the adventure of Dave The Diver – many of which needlessly lengthen and weaken the experience, because you spend less time with the diving and restaurant mechanics that serve the game so well.

With Moloch in mind, I’ll often check the completion time of a game before purchasing. I hope shorter times might point towards a denser experience of higher quality. Next up is Cocoon.

Looking at its miserly fivehour completion time, I have faith in quality over quantity. Zak Evans

“Can I at least have my artbooks not be co-authored by Microsoft Copilot?”

We wrestle with this quite a lot, but mostly with bigger games. In Elden Ring, for example, it’s hard not to want to see its map unfurl out into the distance forever, but equally, if achieving that kind of scale means galloping across a lot of mostly featureless plateaus, we may have to pass. Clearly more modest games shouldn’t have such dilemmas, and you’re right, it’s probably down to the market, not the creator.

Under the Sierra bonnet

I’ve noticed that whenever you feature pixel art on the cover, I find myself even more drawn to your magazine. This isn’t to say that your other cover designs are lacking. Perhaps it’s nostalgia at play: I grew up with Sierra adventure games, and cherish the wonderful memories they evoke. But there may be more to it. I like to think of pixels as a symbol of a certain time in gaming history when things were a bit more anarchic and

free-spirited than today. They also represent hope for DIY developers and, as an aesthetic in their own right, provide freedom to those with limited resources.

Recently, I read an extensive piece on Sierra and the studio’s decline in the late ’90s, which got me reflecting on those games. What struck me was how simpleminded the founders, Ken and Roberta Williams, seemed early in their careers, and how this was mirrored in their games. Titles such as King’s Quest, Police Quest and Space Quest often had comically straightforward setups, with the real fun emerging from how the developers subverted expectations, particularly through humorous writing.

Do you remember the programmers’ offices in Space Quest III? The people in charge of Sierra were not unlike the management of today’s biggest players in the industry – driven by the fear of missing out on the next big business opportunity. This ruined Sierra and should serve as a cautionary tale for us all. If we found ways to subvert the industry like the developers at Sierra did, we might not be able to alter the course of events, but at least we could have a laugh along the way.

Helmut Klinger

There’s barely a pixel in sight, but could Thank Goodness You’re Here! (p110) be the modern kind of spin you’re looking for?

Tin ears, more like

Recently I was finally able to play the wonderful Tin Hearts on my PS5 (having first heard about it in E382). With its detailed environments and soundscape, I was able to transport myself to the attic of Mr Butterworth from the first level. Once the pausing ability was introduced, I immediately used it to explore the surrounds, from the contents of shelves to the paintings transporting me further into game’s world. That immersion was put to the test when I encountered a distinct AI-generated image (one with the air balloon still on the ground, being prepared for takeoff). Unrealistic limbs, weird patterns and the usual visual gibberish – it took me out of the moment. I understand why developers resort to these tools (hardly anyone pays this much attention to pictures in the background of a videogame level), and yet I wonder if this will become the new norm. Can I at least have my artbooks not be co-authored by Microsoft Copilot, please? Vassili Kromm

Wonky AI-generated art has crept in everywhere – we even noticed it sprinkled into Netflix’s recently released Gene Wilder documentary. Soon, though, the little imperfections will be smoothed out, and we may not even be able to notice the machine’s hand at work. Which prompts the question: does that make it more palatable?

Living in hope

Rayner Simpson’s quote about Dave Oshry’s quote about achievements in Soundbytes (E397) irking him (E398) irked me (sorry, couldn’t resist). While I admit that there are some well-crafted achievements out there, from my own experience these are few and far between, the achievement landscape instead peppered with pointless fourth-wall-breaking progress notifications and lazy collectathons. For those of us with slightly obsessive personalities, these latter achievements in particular could tend towards tiring, negative experiences – at least until I forced myself to start ignoring them. Anyway, I have nothing profound to add to this old debate – I just wanted to contest the assertion that they are positive and harmless.

Also, in response to Callum Muir’s letter (19! At 19 I was still in nappies and reading GamesMaster. I may be misremembering), I would recommend he has a child. I have recently discovered this is an incredibly effective way to reduce time spent online to zero (to be fair, you can remove the words ‘spent online’ from that sentence and it still works). And regarding the renaming of your previews section: perhaps you could replace the ‘Y’ with an ‘O’? God knows the videogame industry needs some of that right now.

Matt Turner

Talking of contesting the assertion that they are positive and harmless…

What have we achieved?

After reading Rayner Simpson’s reply to Dave Oshry’s quote, I felt the need to respond. The premise on which achievement systems appear to be based is an attempt to unify game completion/enjoyment to a single account level. An endless and increasingly meaningless number – see You’ve Been Played, by Edge alumnus Adrian Hon.

The goal of achievement systems are an incorruptible and immutable record, a goal that has failed but has also led to a worse user experience. Game saves are no longer copyable to other devices/different accounts. Yet at the same time, achievement guides are rife, ensuring the achievement is definitely not one’s own. Trophies/Achievements can even leave a permanent 0% on games trialled but not bought at full price (see Super Stardust).

The main point that I would contend is that they are harmless optional extras. Achievements have, to my mind, fundamentally shifted game design. No longer are there the unlockables of PS2-era games, or hidden areas that are self-explanatory: I now find a hidden area but without the notification I am missing something, akin to the punchline of the joke. This notification is the unlockable, the reward for getting to the secret area or performing some hidden task.

Achievements remove uniqueness even down to the standardised language and humour used in their descriptions.

Ultimately it is not possible to ‘opt out’ of achievements at all. By all means enjoy them, but realise they are here at a great cost. Stephen Bell

You can get behind the achievement of winning an Edge T-shirt, though, yes?