Evolution is a funny thing. It allows bacteria, nature's innovators, to survive volcanic heat and metabolize substances toxic to most other forms of life. Apparently they can even exchange genetic information between one another, without having to reproduce. Yet it is, by its very definition, a series of slight deviations that typically only produce visible results over an extended period of time.
But that doesn't really have anything to do with the article. Maybe it's just me, but my view's always been that sequels should be judged on their own merit. Sequels, to me, aren't about the characters. If there aren't a bunch of unresolved plot points, then it's just as well that the characters get to live their lives.
However, the main reason I don't understand the sequel conundrum is this: sequels are made because people want them. People enjoyed the original, and want to enjoy it more. They want to see it grow, they want to watch it expand.
But then it doesn't go juuuust right, and they wonder why an inferior sequel would be made.
That thought, in and of itself, somewhat disturbs me. Largely because, unless it's a sequel in name only (different characters, different mechanics, different setting), people seem to be complaining about what a sequel is supposed to be. You don't stop doing something because it works. When an experiment has a successful result, you repeat it. You mainstream it.
When people first tried smelting techniques, and they worked, they kept on with it. When someone innovates at work, they get some extra money. Not because it was creative (or rather, the creativeness itself is not being rewarded), but because it worked (and because nobody else got exactly that).
It could easily be argued that I'm saying the exact same thing as Mr. Wendig: ideas must be constantly tweaked to continue improving. However, my main point is that a derivative of anything must be, by nature, similar to its predecessor. In his Ultima example, he said:
The series had its own wobbly missteps before this point (dinosaurs in Savage Empire, "plantamals" in Martian Dreams), but it wasn't until the seventh official sequel to the series that I felt like I was lost in the throes of some sour fever dream. "Where's my party?" I thought. No Iolo? Shamino? Dupre? Nary a glimpse of Britannia? The game had changed so much and disposed of so many of the series' staples that it was barely recognizable as an Ultima game at all.
Different mechanics, different characters, and a different setting. However, he later stated that:
The series that is beloved, with the Avatar and Britannia and all those crazy Virtues, is one that is itself born of a very different shift in the games early on. The first three games don't use the party mechanic and in fact don't follow the pursuits of the Avatar through Britannia at all. The first three (packaged under the name The Age of Darkness) follow the exploits of The Stranger as he routs an evil wizard from the land of Sosaria.
What, then, defines Ultima? Did
VIII mark a return to the original vision of the series? Or did it take it into a third, previously unknown direction? Was it still close enough to hold the title of
Ultima? Or should it have been considered an IP?
Evolution IS Deviation. It is the repitition of successful experiments and attempts to improve upon the results. There are many dead ends, many failures, and countless results thrown into the proverbial scrap heap. But a sequel is always an evolution, for evolution is not directional. There is no 'forward' or 'backward' for evolution. All that matters is what works. Survival of the fittest doesn't mean everything becomes an eagle, or a lion, or a human. Sometimes it makes mice, dodos, and a platypus.
And I sort of thought we were past judging children by their parents.