For Flap Jaw Space’s (the Digital Chumps Podcast) poorly named “We All Play A Game” segment this week, we’re all playing Enslaved. I took some extra time and wrote a bunch of my thoughts for a slight preview. The ending is discussed, but in a vague-ish non-spoilery way).
Namco apparently wanted to position Enslaved: Odyssey to the West as an analog to Naughty Dog’s Uncharted 2, but a more apt comparison, at least in terms of my personal gaming brain storage, was Grin’s Bionic Commando reboot or Ubisoft’s 2008 Prince of Persia. And by that, I suppose I’m trying to say it felt like a type of character-driven experience I would have had on the previous generation of consoles, only with the additional benefit of a few modern sensibilities.
Take, for example, the art direction. On one hand Ninja Theory constructed their post-apocalypse with a bright and vibrant color pallet rather than the bland browns found in so many other games. Cityscapes being reclaimed by vegetation gave way to vivid blues and greens, whereas the later game’s evening levels were soaked in red and orange saturation. Even the water, which is always some bright shade of neon yellow, couldn’t stand to be average. At first blush it looked amazing, but over time I started to pay more attention to its limitations than its majesty. Ninja Theory’s grasp on Unreal Engine 3 is partly to blame, with pop-in frequent, textures muddy when up close, and an all around jankyness that suggests less proficiency than the minds at Bioware or Epic, but more at fault was the level design. With the exception of the great Cloud segments, I always felt I was being lead down a nicely decorated hallway. The world was apparently beautiful, but I wasn’t allowed to go off and explore it. Certain segments, most notably in the robot junkyard, promoted sweeping vistas to gaze at and take in, but for the most part Enslaved’s great art offered a glimpse instead of the whole package.
Not that the fiction wasn’t fascinating; I was greatly impressed by the lengths Ninja Theory went to justify their world. Communication over distances? Handled with the headset. Don’t want Monkey abandoning Trip? Artificial boundaries are constructed by the headset. Need to figure out the awareness zones of enemy robots? That’s why we have the dragonfly. The puzzles lacked any sort of immediate justification (“I don’t know, he just likes building bridges”) and the random ammo placements completely broke immersion, but as a complete work Ninja Theory did a great job in crafting a believable world.
Like Prince of Persia, much of the narrative was fleshed out through incidental dialogue. Interaction between Trip and Monkey bordered on cliché, but for archetypes we’re used to seeing in movies rather than videogames. “I die, you die” is a concept seen in every co-op mission ever created, but usually justified through failure states instead of narrative consequence. When Yorda is pulled through a black hole or Leon Kennedy lets the president’s daughter succumb to the undead, the character is presumably so overcome with guilt that they lose their sense of purpose, but Monkey actually loses his entire life. It’s an easy observation to grace over, but important nevertheless.
What worked even better was the ending. Throughout the game I found masks scattered around that offered three second clips of real-life FMV. Seemingly inconsequential, they were of simple events like a man climbing a mountain or riding in a boat. The normalcy of modern (modern as in 2010 in the real world) life seemed like a fairly mundane flashback for a videogame, and I couldn’t figure out what to make of it. Was Monkey a product of frequent reincarnation? A Star Child ala Neo, constantly tasked with saving the universe? As it turned out, not so much, but the end result was far more satisfying. Andy Serkis’ real life visage gracing the screen was alarming, and the context behind his speech in the epilogue was an excellent reveal. The game hinted at this occasionally by never explaining what the slave ships were for, or who would even need human labor, which made the payoff far more satisfying. I only wish I would have had some sort of control over Trip’s actions, but that’s a minor complaint for an otherwise great ending.
Combat was the one area where my expectations were defied. Monkey’s move set is incredibly limited; a soft attack and a strong attack that can be chained together reasonably well, along with an area attack and a stun-inducing charge move. The can be powered up to some effect, but the challenge in combat lied with managing different arrangements of robots rather than stringing together complicated sets of moves. Aiming for the one robot that I could usually tear apart and self destruct onto the other robots was essential to a smooth flow of battle, and managing the stun-move so it appropriate shielded enemies always proved appropriately difficult. Getting stuck in Monkey’s animations was stupid, but ground was covered when Monkey’s attacks always seemed to home-in regardless of the direction I was facing.
Coming to terms with Enslaved’s linearity was disappointing. Whenever Trip would say, “hey can you get over there” I always knew there was only one path and one method to go about doing so. An absence of Red Herrings would surely cut down on player frustration, but at the same time it removed any sense of legitimate exploration. It was always climb some pipes, swing on a few things, and jump off platforms only when allowed. It grew more contrived toward the end, when the dragon fly would actually lead Monkey around a path that was already too obvious. To its credit Enslaved starting throwing hazards into the platforming later on (the giant gear room in particular), and the sense of immediacy usually enforced did well to make up for the simplicity, but brief timing challenges weren’t the same as actual platforming, leaving movement feeling rather anemic. Platforming was performed in similar fashion in Uncharted, but usually limited to brief segments. It seemed that entire sections of Enslaved, such as the race with Pigsy revolved around mindless sessions of pointing the analog stick toward the glowing thing.
But I can’t say it wasn’t a positive experience. I’m going to start a playthrough on hard in a few to try and clear out the remaining trophies. Hopefully it’ll be a fun game to revisit in a few years, but I can’t say the ten or so hours thus far wasn’t time well spent.
Be sure and look out for Flap Jaw Space: Episode 14 this weekend, where I’ll discuss the game with Chris and Steve. And don’t forget to check out Steven McGehee’s review from last fall.
