On Sequels
- Thread starter Yahtzee Croshaw
- Start date
And when it comes to videogames, if you can't tell a complete story within 10 hours of gameplay then maybe you should consider simplifying it a tad.
Or 10 hours of cutscenes if you are Hideo Kojima
Sorry, was that too obvious?
Or 10 hours of cutscenes if you are Hideo Kojima
Sorry, was that too obvious?
I guess the problem is that a sequel is really a company exploiting the fact that they have a "property" whose name is well known in the gaming community, and where they know how much money they stand to make. This then makes the investment part of the game an easy calculation.
And once you have a budget and you know which audience you're pitching to, you pick up your "cut & paste" tool and, erm, cut & paste.
Basically, sequels are pretty much always fan service and a play for easy money. Fans of the games only have themselves to blame, really.
And once you have a budget and you know which audience you're pitching to, you pick up your "cut & paste" tool and, erm, cut & paste.
Basically, sequels are pretty much always fan service and a play for easy money. Fans of the games only have themselves to blame, really.
I don't know, I actually liked the 3rd and 4th Monkey Island games - the voice actors for one are all terrific, and they were still quite funny.
Ironically the folks who wrote the dialog in Monkey Island didn't realize at the time it was intended to be comedy, they were inserting 'joke' text as a placeholder, expecting to replace it with actual serious dialog later only to be told the game was going to ship with their 'lame jokes' firmly in place.
Ironically the folks who wrote the dialog in Monkey Island didn't realize at the time it was intended to be comedy, they were inserting 'joke' text as a placeholder, expecting to replace it with actual serious dialog later only to be told the game was going to ship with their 'lame jokes' firmly in place.
The problem with lack of sequels is that even if it's often disappointing compared to the first opus, having a rule forbidding sequels would have made us miss things like Half-Life 2, but anyway, imho things are never black and white (except two-bits GIF files)(...ahem, sorry, geek joke), there are shades of grey.
Sometimes a sequel ends up more interesting than yet another generic *insert your favorite genre here* game with no backstory and going nowhere (on the other hand, overkill lengthy backstory is not my cup of tea either).
Edit: also, let's take for example Beyond Good & Evil 2: somehow, I trust Michel Ancel & Christophe Héral more to make another hauntingly beautiful game than newcomers who hated the first game: I've got nothing against changes (so I guess I'm not a real fangirl) but if someone hated the first one, it seems logical they are less likely they'll make something I'll enjoy than someone who I know for sure made something I greatly enjoyed.
On the other hand, I'm probably one of the few people who actually enjoyed Deus Ex: Invisible wars because it continued DX's story, so I'll now go hide in shame somewhere.
Sometimes a sequel ends up more interesting than yet another generic *insert your favorite genre here* game with no backstory and going nowhere (on the other hand, overkill lengthy backstory is not my cup of tea either).
Edit: also, let's take for example Beyond Good & Evil 2: somehow, I trust Michel Ancel & Christophe Héral more to make another hauntingly beautiful game than newcomers who hated the first game: I've got nothing against changes (so I guess I'm not a real fangirl) but if someone hated the first one, it seems logical they are less likely they'll make something I'll enjoy than someone who I know for sure made something I greatly enjoyed.
On the other hand, I'm probably one of the few people who actually enjoyed Deus Ex: Invisible wars because it continued DX's story, so I'll now go hide in shame somewhere.
Uhm. Yeah. Listen to the "Sequels made by people that did not like the original" and you get a bunch of sequels that are hated by everyone who loved the first game.
And we would get more Neverwinter Nights 2's - bad sequels, that while improved SOME of the aspects of the game, destroyed the MOST important things.
Besides, look at Ubisoft or Blizzard or Valve - they love what they do, and people see it in their games. Especially Blizzard and Valve.
And we would get more Neverwinter Nights 2's - bad sequels, that while improved SOME of the aspects of the game, destroyed the MOST important things.
Besides, look at Ubisoft or Blizzard or Valve - they love what they do, and people see it in their games. Especially Blizzard and Valve.
This reminds me of a discussion I once had about similar subject...
There are two types of "fans" when it comes to, well, just about anything: true fans and "fleas".
Fleas are called such because they live off of various media as a source of nourishment, usually in the way of adopting portions of it into their own lives and personas. They take something from a media source and literally make it theirs.
A good example is die-hard Star Wars fans. These people would no sooner admit that the first three episodes were as bad as they were than admit that they have no purpose on this planet and summarily shuffle off into a large furnace. They CANNOT admit that something bearing the Star Wars logo is bad because to criticize it would be to criticize themselves. To these people, Star Wars is as important (if not more so) to their lives than religion is to most.
These are not real fans, because they do not see any error or room for improvement.
TRUE fans are the ones who respect a piece of media, be it a game, movie, book, etc., for what it is. They too will adopt pieces of it into their lives and enjoy their fanship thoroughly. There's nothing wrong with this, as I think we can all admit that it feels great to be passionate about something we enjoy.
However, what separates the fans from the fleas is that fans will see room for improvement where it exists. They will see when something that was once great is not living up to its former glory and they'll call it. As the series continues to drift away from its former greatness, the fans will also drift away, continuing to drift until they're no longer fans at all. They saw what was great in their favorite series and, as that greatness diminishes, so too does their love for it.
I once considered myself an avid Star Wars fan. I don't any longer. Episodes 1-3 thoroughly destroyed any love I once had for the series. It's both sad and ironic, but George Lucas wound up completely missing the point of why people loved Star Wars to begin with. It wasn't because of the special effects, it was because (though the acting was generally bad) the characters in episodes 4-6 absolutely OOZED humanity. This made the whole thing believable and enjoyable.
With the human element missing from 1-3 with stiff, lifeless characters, my reasons for liking the series ceased to exist (as it did for the majority of the series' fans). Yet, that hasn't stopped millions of fleas from marching right along, pretending as if everything as fine, as admitting otherwise would equate relinquishing a large part of who they are. Were Star Wars to die completely, the fleas would simply hop off the carcass onto the next warm host to suck nourishment from and start incorporating huge portions of it into their lives.
In summary, fans will see greatness and appreciate it for what it is, noticing when it diminishes and offering criticism upon how it could be better. Fleas will see greatness and latch onto it (mostly due to extreme insecurity), never admitting that there can be any fault found with it because doing so would equate admitting they were wrong about associating it into their lives to start with.
There are two types of "fans" when it comes to, well, just about anything: true fans and "fleas".
Fleas are called such because they live off of various media as a source of nourishment, usually in the way of adopting portions of it into their own lives and personas. They take something from a media source and literally make it theirs.
A good example is die-hard Star Wars fans. These people would no sooner admit that the first three episodes were as bad as they were than admit that they have no purpose on this planet and summarily shuffle off into a large furnace. They CANNOT admit that something bearing the Star Wars logo is bad because to criticize it would be to criticize themselves. To these people, Star Wars is as important (if not more so) to their lives than religion is to most.
These are not real fans, because they do not see any error or room for improvement.
TRUE fans are the ones who respect a piece of media, be it a game, movie, book, etc., for what it is. They too will adopt pieces of it into their lives and enjoy their fanship thoroughly. There's nothing wrong with this, as I think we can all admit that it feels great to be passionate about something we enjoy.
However, what separates the fans from the fleas is that fans will see room for improvement where it exists. They will see when something that was once great is not living up to its former glory and they'll call it. As the series continues to drift away from its former greatness, the fans will also drift away, continuing to drift until they're no longer fans at all. They saw what was great in their favorite series and, as that greatness diminishes, so too does their love for it.
I once considered myself an avid Star Wars fan. I don't any longer. Episodes 1-3 thoroughly destroyed any love I once had for the series. It's both sad and ironic, but George Lucas wound up completely missing the point of why people loved Star Wars to begin with. It wasn't because of the special effects, it was because (though the acting was generally bad) the characters in episodes 4-6 absolutely OOZED humanity. This made the whole thing believable and enjoyable.
With the human element missing from 1-3 with stiff, lifeless characters, my reasons for liking the series ceased to exist (as it did for the majority of the series' fans). Yet, that hasn't stopped millions of fleas from marching right along, pretending as if everything as fine, as admitting otherwise would equate relinquishing a large part of who they are. Were Star Wars to die completely, the fleas would simply hop off the carcass onto the next warm host to suck nourishment from and start incorporating huge portions of it into their lives.
In summary, fans will see greatness and appreciate it for what it is, noticing when it diminishes and offering criticism upon how it could be better. Fleas will see greatness and latch onto it (mostly due to extreme insecurity), never admitting that there can be any fault found with it because doing so would equate admitting they were wrong about associating it into their lives to start with.
I can't help but think he meant outside the original development team. Also, points of hilarity for misspelling incompetent.Daemian Lucifer said:
Erm.... Tales of Monkey Island's design director is Dave Grossman, one of the "big three" to work on the first two MI games you apparently worship.
Tales isn't made by "fanboys," it's made by one of the three original writers of the series.
Tales isn't made by "fanboys," it's made by one of the three original writers of the series.
So... What constitutes a lame sequel, and what constitutes an imaginative romp through the same elementary framework/universe as a previous work?
I'm thinking particularly of Star Trek here, which has inspired unholy amounts of spin-off work, both sanctioned and otherwise. Some of it is great, and some of it (mostly easily identifiable by looking for the name "Rick Berman" scrawled on it somewhere) is arse. And some would argue that the whole franchise was beaten to death so thoroughly and comprehensively under the feet of millions of "adoring" fans that JJ Abrams had no choice but to punch master reset.
Two of those feet were unquestionably mine. I watched the series ardently in my younger days and even attended a fan convention. If I look hard enough, I can find my copies of the Star Fleet Technical Reference Manual and the Franz Joseph blueprints to the Enterprise. TNG showed up and I watched that religiously for a while, but around season six something changed, either in me or in the series, and I started to lose interest. I still haven't seen all of the sixth or seventh seasons. Deep Space Nine showed up (concomitant with Babylon 5 -- nothing suspicious there, nope, nope) but almost nothing about the situation or the characters grabbed me. When Voyager showed up, I said, "Oh, fsck you, this is an impossibly lame Lost In Space ripoff," and even Berman tacitly acknowledged this when he added Jeri Ryan to the cast. When the Enterprise pre-quel showed up, I didn't even bother, because it was evident they didn't care anymore. It seems that universe had nothing left to say to me.
Having said all that, I don't think the universe/template/framework of Star Trek is dead -- it just needs to find someone who has something to say through that framework. In "rebooting" the franchise, Abrams changed the framework, presumably in the hopes of finding new things to say. But for all energy and hype and flash, this first film didn't have much to say (except possibly, "We still don't know how to handle time travel in a non-lame, non-deus-ex-machina fashion").
Which leads me back to the original question: What constitutes a good sequel? Are there universally applicable rules, or is it all ultimately subjective?
I'm thinking particularly of Star Trek here, which has inspired unholy amounts of spin-off work, both sanctioned and otherwise. Some of it is great, and some of it (mostly easily identifiable by looking for the name "Rick Berman" scrawled on it somewhere) is arse. And some would argue that the whole franchise was beaten to death so thoroughly and comprehensively under the feet of millions of "adoring" fans that JJ Abrams had no choice but to punch master reset.
Two of those feet were unquestionably mine. I watched the series ardently in my younger days and even attended a fan convention. If I look hard enough, I can find my copies of the Star Fleet Technical Reference Manual and the Franz Joseph blueprints to the Enterprise. TNG showed up and I watched that religiously for a while, but around season six something changed, either in me or in the series, and I started to lose interest. I still haven't seen all of the sixth or seventh seasons. Deep Space Nine showed up (concomitant with Babylon 5 -- nothing suspicious there, nope, nope) but almost nothing about the situation or the characters grabbed me. When Voyager showed up, I said, "Oh, fsck you, this is an impossibly lame Lost In Space ripoff," and even Berman tacitly acknowledged this when he added Jeri Ryan to the cast. When the Enterprise pre-quel showed up, I didn't even bother, because it was evident they didn't care anymore. It seems that universe had nothing left to say to me.
Having said all that, I don't think the universe/template/framework of Star Trek is dead -- it just needs to find someone who has something to say through that framework. In "rebooting" the franchise, Abrams changed the framework, presumably in the hopes of finding new things to say. But for all energy and hype and flash, this first film didn't have much to say (except possibly, "We still don't know how to handle time travel in a non-lame, non-deus-ex-machina fashion").
Which leads me back to the original question: What constitutes a good sequel? Are there universally applicable rules, or is it all ultimately subjective?
So it would be something like Stargate Atlantis compared to Stargate SG1, based in the same universe, but parallel to the original (or another example, something like Blue Shift and Opposing Force compared to Half life 1?)JimmyBassatti said:
Hmm, imho that feels a bit arbitrarily (is that even a real word ?) restrictive, it's like tv shows being able to have only one season.
Well, no, not exactly. A highly imprecise discussion of the subject might go like this:oppp7 said:
Consider this famous fractal curve [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/L%C3%A9vy_C_curve]. As it is composed of one-dimensional line segments, the area occupied by the curve is zero, making it a one-dimensional figure. (Although the curve may meander through a larger two-dimensional space, the curve topologically remains one-dimensional, and the area actually consumed by the curve lines themselves is zero.)
As you recursively subdivide the curve, the path it takes starts to become more twisted and complex. As you approach a recursion level of infinity, the one-dimensional line becomes so infinitesimally fractured and twisted and is passing through so many points in the two-dimensional plane that it becomes useful to think of this one-dimensional zero-area curve as actually consuming some portion of the 2D space -- occupying a fractional dimension.
So, there ya go.
You know, the idea can be taken a bit further and wondering why we keep making games for the same teen audience instead of, say, housewives or the elderly and maybe we should have games designed by people who hate all current games... Then we've got something like the Wii that's the sequel to gaming for people who hated gaming and all the gaming fans scream that their beloved series is being destroyed...
More on topic, I think Contra 4 and Megaman 9 are examples of these balls-in-mouth fanboy sequels and both fall flat compared to their ancestors. Now Contra Rebirth comes along and kicks Contra 4 in the balls by doing away with all the extra complexity that was vomited over the series and keeping it nice, simple and accessible instead of a massive fanwank that only the obsessive I-beat-Contra-on-one-life-every-week people can enjoy. A big warning sign for things like that is repeated themes with a twist like that base with the glowing weak spot, in Contra 4 after you beat it it rises up and forms a new boss, in Contra Rebirth it just falls over and lets you walk past (i.e. it doesn't add any stupid twists beyond being a miniboss instead of an end boss). Megaman 9 throws massively complex vanishing block patterns at the player that earlier games wouldn't even dare to place in a Wily stage, pretty much assuming the player is already on board with that concept and has had his introduction from all the earlier games while missing that people don't like the vanishing blocks either way.
More on topic, I think Contra 4 and Megaman 9 are examples of these balls-in-mouth fanboy sequels and both fall flat compared to their ancestors. Now Contra Rebirth comes along and kicks Contra 4 in the balls by doing away with all the extra complexity that was vomited over the series and keeping it nice, simple and accessible instead of a massive fanwank that only the obsessive I-beat-Contra-on-one-life-every-week people can enjoy. A big warning sign for things like that is repeated themes with a twist like that base with the glowing weak spot, in Contra 4 after you beat it it rises up and forms a new boss, in Contra Rebirth it just falls over and lets you walk past (i.e. it doesn't add any stupid twists beyond being a miniboss instead of an end boss). Megaman 9 throws massively complex vanishing block patterns at the player that earlier games wouldn't even dare to place in a Wily stage, pretty much assuming the player is already on board with that concept and has had his introduction from all the earlier games while missing that people don't like the vanishing blocks either way.