Hybrids

Heavy rain achieved a big part of what I always imagined would be great in gaming. Although the "interactive movie," which was the main feature of the game, was done well enough, the part of the game I enjoyed the most was the Sims/Second Life like simulation in the opening of the game. That everyday-life as playable was the most exhilarating. Every small action of many small domestic everyday items and actions were given more attention than we have ever seen. How I pose my body against my environment, whether I lean against a railing, put my hands on a chair or sit on a chair, and how fast I even get up from the bed are all choices I can make.

While it is hard to see these actions as "gameplay," it is the skillful representation of real life that impresses me. In a similar way to how we appreciate some paintings for their lifelike quality in the way the brush strokes, color, and form were rendered, I could appreciate this new window into reality that video game provides. This new window is not that of the frame on a painting, and not necessarily the edges of our screens and monitors because the static visual image is no longer the totality of what is being represented. Instead, this new window frame has no definite shape, because it encompasses many visible and invisible elements in the work: graphics, color, composition, physics, dialogue, movement, control, etc.












For some reason, I always thought how enjoyable it would be for a game to be almost like a mirror to a slice of our life. I imagined being placed in a room, where every object I could interact with. By Interaction, I mean not the traditionally narrow Pick up, Keep, or Drop, but something more akin to how we really interact with things, whether it is throwing a plush doll for your dog to fetch, or pushing it in to hear the sound, or tearing out one of its eyes, or giving it to anyone and observing a unique reaction to that specific object in that specific state, from being drenched in dog drool to missing one eye. Heavy rain approaches this ideal in the opening scene's setting: the morning of your older son's birthday, before and while your wife and kids return home from grocery shopping. Some actions available to you in this scene are














Waking up: From the very beginning before a single input is given by the player, your action or inaction is immediately visualized in all its simple consequence. You push "up" and he'll wake up. This first realization is very standard and normal for our understanding of what our interaction with our avatars has been. However, what interested me most was what was happening before I woke my character. He was lying down with his hand hanging off the bed and not moving as a sleeping person normally does, but instead of watching him not moving in a room that waits for him to move, I was watching him through a cinematic lens, where my perspective would be cut from a close up of his hand, to a shot of his face, to a slow pan from the ceiling. Constantly, the immobile character was being activated into a larger narrative and his non-action was transformed into a significant moment, that of sleep. And this sleep was not a mere dull moment before he starts the rest of his important day, no, this moment of sleep itself was important too. It was the resting of a grown man in a nice middle class bedroom on a lazy, sunny sunday afternoon, and every second he stays in that bed adds to this meaning and action of having and enjoying a restful moment of sleep.













Going out, getting fresh air, watching over your back yard, walking along your balcony: Being able to pose the character, whether it's leaning against a wall, putting up your elbows on the railing, or sitting half your ass on a table, adds to a credibility that was always lost when characters in video games always engaged in dialogue in a stiff standing, arms down at the sides, feet apart and ready to go in any direction, and looking forward no matter what, even if at a wall position. However, what amazed me even more than the fact that your character has facial reactions, crosses arms, or turns their head, is that even in the absence of dialogue, your character will take up poses that craft a moment that was never considered as "playable" in a video game. This new moment is the personal one, reflective on his or her self or their situation, or simply some arbitrary time for being alone, for doing nothing in particular. I realized this unique kind of void of gameplay early on, when I slid open the glass door, walked outside, leaned on the railing, and watched as the camera picked up the cue when i stopped giving inputs. The perspective started to cut from my gazing into the backyard, to the backyard itself, to another angle, and so on. Somehow, the fact that the game colored almost everything I do as significant, even when it wasn't serving the larger purpose (of exploring a level, beating a boss, solving a crime), made the "gaming" aspect almost dissolve.
When we experience a path, say on a hike, we do not simply go from point A to point B and deal only with the things that get in the way of our getting to B. Sometimes we are distracted. Sometimes we make a mini destination because of a waterfall that seems accessible. We make sub destinations and sub goals and plans. The experience of a path is more like
From A to sub A to sub sub A to A and a half to sub B to forgetting about B to B.
Heavy Rain, with its increased use of the cinematic cuts and an increased awareness and availability of character interactions with their environment, started to capture this experience of the path, namely of any real experience that starts anywhere and that may or may not end here or there or at all.

opening your dresser
checking a note on the floor
shower, brush teeth
turn on and watch tv
play with your sons' remote control car
help your wife with grocery bags
hug your wife from behind as she does the dishes
play with your sons

work on a draft on your architecture project: One of the many great examples of the range of actions that can translate to a convincing control, where the control seems to mimic the represented action enough to induce a similar sensation of actually embodying the character in their motions. Left, Right, Up, Down to start with the obvious ones. When he draws a line right, you flick the analog stick right. Then, he goes into detail or makes a precision line, then you are required to do it slowly as well. When you are almost finished and you need to polish the look, you shake the controller as he uses the eraser. The motion controls in this game, however were mostly annoying, as the sixaxis is rather primitive, insensitive, and heavy. Whereas many of the directional inputs correlated almost instantly to the resulting action, the motion input to the character input seemed to distant to produce a convincing effect. The times when it does work, however, are impressive (pushing down on the controller to kick down a door or ram your body into theirs in a fist fight, and swiping the controller to your side to slide things off the table). But shaking your controller to break free from a headlock or to keep a cool head when you get dizzy? I felt more like a whining child that was shaking his hands to express how much he wanted a candy bar or a copy of Heavy Rain.

Heavy rain advanced the idea of the role playing adventure like the text based games that let you choose your own paths or book where you can flip to the chapter that results from your decision. However, the choices you make are no longer limited to Yes or No to NPCs or solely at plot changing points. You can choose now to drink water if you want to make your character do so, you can pee if you feel like, or use an inhaler.