hint, hint….

The classic Lucasarts adventure games exist in their own strange world, bound by their own arbitrary and often capricious logic. It’s part of their charm, if a little sick.

Revisiting Indiana Jones and the Fate of Atlantis over the last couple of weeks something has been gnawing at me: I played this game ten years ago. Without hints. This time through, I find myself constantly running to various faqs and walkthroughs. Have I lost my treasured problem solving skills? My ability to think outside the box?

For one thing, I don’t think I even knew where to get hints ten years ago. Certainly not as immediately as I can now. A quick alt-tab away from the game and google has all the answers waiting. It is so, so very easy. Playing through Atlantis again it has become something of a crutch. If I get stuck on a puzzle for more than a few minutes, off to the internet I go.

A couple of days ago I finally picked up Braid (thank you Steam Christmas sale). This is a game whose puzzles are cruel, malignant things. Sheer, unadulterated evil. It’s a brilliant game that I am completely stuck in. The game is divided into a series of rooms. You step through a door and are transported to a linked series of puzzles. Very hard puzzles. Moving through these puzzles you pick up jig-saw pieces, assembling them in a meta-puzzle. In the first room there is one damned piece left. I can’t get it. Fresh out of ideas. But in contrast to Atlantis, I have so far steadfastly refused to look at a hint. I intend to stick to this.

So what’s the difference?

Along with most of the gaming populous, my tolerance for frustration in games has dropped very close to zero. More and more if I am stuck in a game, I just put it down. Sometimes just for the night, sometimes permanently. If the ideal is an unbroken experience with one game-event flowing into the next naturally, I shouldn’t find myself running around in circles for half an hour, lost. As phenomenal as the surrounding game is, Uncharted 2 fell off my radar for a couple of days after one incident that left me searching for my suddenly-mute companion in a mountain village for 45 minutes after a gruelling firefight, eventually locating him in the one building in the town I hadn’t looked in. This stood out as such a thorn in the otherwise intuitive game that is seemed genuinely painful.

Last year’s Prince of Persia re-boot was perfect for my current gaming mood. The game was always there to lend a helping hand, delivering you from trouble, subtly guiding you towards your current goals. It was fun, pain and simple.

At the time of its release Prince of Persia was widely criticized for being ‘too easy.’ This out of some misguided notion that a gamer must prove their metal each and every time they pick up a controller. No, I say! I will bow to no pressure other than to enjoy myself in the game.

And so I turn to hints again and again to speed my progress through Atlantis. Because what am I really playing it for? The story, entertaining dialogue, and the nostalgic glow that lets me forgive the glaring flaws in both.

Braid is the exception. Something different. In this one case I really do have to insist on ramming my head against the wall over and over until something clicks, even if it is just out of pride. I want to feel that little satisfaction at finally figuring out how to get another piece of the puzzle. Partly this seems to be the desired experience the game wants you to have. The protagonist, Tim, is stuck in just this state. In this rare case, frustration fits the game.