"But Trent," you say, not even giving me a chance to start my own article, "how can you have the same expectations of a free flash game on a cable channel's website and a professionally made game from a dedicated game studio?"
I'm reeling a bit from your pre-emptive ire, but the short answer is, I don't. But that doesn't mean I can't draw comparisons, and it doesn't mean I can't have minimal expectations. I realize these are two strange games to talk about, since there are relatively few point-and-click adventures on the market, but they're a pretty clear-cut example of a user interface done right and done wrong.
In case you missed it, Gigolo Assassin is an old-school point-and-click adventure, in the same way that trepanation is old-school medicine.
I'm sorry, I can't decide if I want to be one of those angry reviewers who constantly exaggerate their fury at poor game design. Time will tell.
Anyway, what I mean is that Gigolo Assassin divides your interactions up into "Pick Up," "Look At," "Use," and "Talk to," while Sam and Max combines all meaningful interactions into a single-click interface.
Believe me, I understand how the divided interface came about. You do different things with different objects. And it creates design space for puzzles involving objects that you should look at, but not pick up. Because… y'know, everyone likes things that you can look at but can't touch.
But really, there may be one or two decent uses for that kind of interface. But none are so compelling that it justifies the aggravation that the interface causes. If I click on a bottle of poison, the game can safely assume I want to LOOK AT it, and maybe PICK IT UP, but not USE it on myself or TALK TO it. Unless it's a talking bottle of poison, in which case the game should make me talk to it by default instead of waiting for me to guess. By the same token, if I click on a person, the game can safely assume I want to TALK TO her and LOOK AT her. No meaningful challenge is lost if "click" always means "interact with or perceive this object in every rational/purposeful way possible." If you want to make certain interactions optional, then prompt a separate "drink poison/don't drink poison" interaction.
Do you know what happens when I lose my way in a Sam and Max game, and I can't reason out a way forward? I click on every object in the world. Do you know what happens when I lose my way in Gigolo Assassin? I click on every object in the world four times. Actually, I select each option, then click on every object in the world. That's eight times the clicks. That's punishing. It's defeating. And, sure, I should be able to figure out point-and-click puzzles without having to retrace every possible interaction, but the game should account for the possibility that I can't.
I feel like a persistent theme of my reviews is that it's good to make games easier for the player. That was even the theme of my gimmick review of the deathtraps in Saw. I honestly feel, though, that I'm always promoting not simply ease but user friendliness. I thought Braid was brilliantly designed, after all, and there's plenty of people who can vouch that it's not an easy game. I suppose you could argue that the single-click interface for takes away too much challenge because it does work that the player should be doing – that, in a well-designed adventure, it's should be player's job, not the interface's, to observe and judge. But I don't see divided interfaces being used that way. I see them being used to punish me for TALKING TO a man but not LOOKING AT him, and so failing to notice his nametag or something. As if I was averting my gaze from him the entire time we were talking. You know, like people do.
I also see it being used to punish me for not knowing which items I'm allowed to pick up. As far as I'm concerned, usable items in adventure games fall more or less into two categories:
1. Obviously useful items, like screwdrivers or keys, which the game shouldn't even have to ask whether I want to take. If I were on some sort of adventure in real life, I would grab these even if I had no specific need for them at the time.
2. Really obscure items, like dirty napkins or broken pencils, which the game should automatically make me pick up because I would have to be insane to independently guess that they would be useful.
So I think I've made my case that frustrating and clumsy interfaces are bad, and don't constitute meaningful difficulty. Another triumph. Tune in next time when I guess I'll pick an even higher- and lower-profile pair of games and draw unflattering comparisons between the two. Or come back in a month when I'll be explaining why Portal is better than Jim's Awesome RPG Maker Game.
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