Let’s start today’s One A Day blog with some self-pimping. I’ve been a-writin’ about an old favourite of mine. The year was 1996. The game was Quake. The kind editor who let me write about it is Luke Guttridge, and the website is Play.tm.
I begin like this:
Which games do you remember? Okay, obviously, you probably remember a lot of games. But I mean really remember. I mean the sort of games that imprint themselves on your mind right down to the most infinitesimal of details, to the point where you vividly recall every enemy, every weapon, every nuance of each wonderful level. For me, Quake is one of those games. No, scratch that: for me, Quake is the only one of those games.
And then continue as such. Read it here.
On the subject of Play.tm, then, I’m currently reviewing something for them (and for Resolution, as a matter of fact – one of those two-reviews-of-one-game situations I occasionally find myself in). One of the perks of the job, of course, is that you sometimes get to play games before they’re released into the wild, which is delightful and satisfying. But it’s also, very occasionally, incredibly frustrating.
It’s frustrating because sometimes a game comes along that does something you want to immediately tell everyone about. You want to enthuse and discuss and talk about how utterly magical your experience has been so far. You desperately wish those couple of weeks would hurry up and pass, so that the game’s out and everyone’s played it and is talking about it and you can suss out what other people think and join in the discussion. But you can’t. Because you have a piece of paper in front of you that says “No talking about this until the specified date!” And you go Ghnnnn.
I’m currently playing one of those games. I’ve only played about three hours of it. For all I know, it might go to utter shit in about five more minutes. It might end up being mediocre, or broken, or heaven knows what else.
But my goodness, if it doesn’t have one of the most magical openings to any videogame I’ve played in at least the last year or so.
The good thing, of course, is that the fact I’m writing two reviews of the thing means I have more words in which to spout loads of nonsense. I considered starting to take notes already, but decided my Google Doc would probably just say “Omigod Omigod Omigod” over and over again, so it makes sense to wait until I’m a bit more level-headed. I’ve already emailed a journo friend who I have a feeling may also be playing it, just on the off chance, so that I can go “Omigod Omigod Omigod” to him.
But doing it to everyone else will have to wait until next month. Boo!
(Er. There needs to be a quick request here. A selection of journo-types will actually know which game I’m referring to, as I’ve already gone “Omigod Omigod Omigod” to them about it. To those people: obviously, don’t leave a comment naming the game or anything like that.)
But all this also got me thinking about what other people will end up thinking about this game’s opening. Because it’s actually one I can see being quite divisive. I loved how it started. I loved the way in which it set up everything that has so far followed. But it’s not exactly a conventional way of doing things. How do you like your games to begin, folks?